The Last Stand
by Blinded Ryter
Summary: Fed lies by the media, ruled by a hoax of a corrupt government, and wars erupting beyond closed walls the world had returned to its unjust antics. Villified as a mass murderer, Allen Walker must become a hero, and take the last stand.
1. Le Brise

Disclaimer: I do not own D. Gray Man, its character, its plot, and etc.

**The Last Stand  
**_By Blinded Ryter_

_Dedicated to those who do not have a voice,  
I speak for you._

I - "Le Brise"  
_(The Broken)_

_"I don't love you."_

Four simple words with enough significance to weigh down the world upon Atlas' shoulders to where he fell to his knees, then gave a grunt of defeat before collasping. Sprawled across the floor, and unable to even lift his head due to the abrupt brute force pinning Atlas to the ground, the world rolled off of his shoulders, and fell not like a child's rubber ball, but like a crystal sphere.

With a sickening crack, the glass shattered with delicate tinkling.

_"I could never love you."_

The broken glass was ground.

_"Never."_

And ground.

_"You're a fool for even loving me in the first place."_

And ground.

_"A naive fool."_

Until not even crystalline particles like heaps of white sand were left behind, but ground until there was nothing left.

Until nothing exist.

With the light of efferveresence and life extinguishing its flames from the hues of pale blue, Allen Walker took a step back, the heel of his shoe emitting a definte clack that resonated throughout the still and silent air in the desolate corridor. The season was spring, but the air suddenly felt cold as the boy's breath caught in his throat, and the colour drained from his blank face. His heart had come to a halt as each string was pulled away and left to fall into the unfathomable depths of the dark abyss that grew larger by the second within Allen's chest.

Then suddenly, Allen felt heat prick the skin around his eyes. Warm at first, then scalding hot, his vision blurred, and he was forced to blink furiously in an attempt to hold the tears in.

But why should he not cry?

What did Allen Walker have to lose?

_(Nothing.)_

What did he have to gain?

_(Nothing.)_

Burning of the throat.  
Choking of the voice.  
Trembling of the quiet sobs.  
Fervent of the tears.  
Throes and travail of the heart.

Allen Walker shook his head in...denial? Agreement? Or for nor reason? Still, the boy shook his head as he lowered his gaze to the ground, and quickly dried his dampened face with the back of one hand, though the waterworks would not stop. He parted his quivering lips to speak, but only a strangled noise escaped before another convulsing sob sent tremors throughout his small frame.

It was not as if Allen had confessed upon adolescent infactuation, or a confused affectionate admiration of a short period of time, but a genuine and true love of four years. Four years since the encounter, the interest, the addiction, the blissful ignorance...

With patience and with contemplation, Allen had waited until he was sure of his own feelings, waited until the time was right. The time was after the Earl had been defeated, the Noahs destroyed, the Akuma at peace.

The time was when Allen's loved one was about to leave the Black Order, but more importantly...leave behind his persona: "Lavi".

This persona no longer needed to remain in the Black Order with the war being over, but Allen was the fool who hoped and believed that he would become the reason for Lavi to stay and live as more than just a persona.

Though Allen had his head hung with his pallid locks falling down like curtains to conceal his face, and his eyes closed tightly as tears continued to leak, the boy knew exactly what the Bookman Jr.'s expression was: nothing. Though the red-haired boy was supposed to be Lavi until he stepped onto the boat, apparently he had already decided to drop the act, the farce, the facade sooner just for Allen's sake and torment. Not a single emotion flickered in that dim hazel hue, nor did anything for that matter flit across his stoic face.

The grief and anguish was overwhelming, and too much for Allen to endure, even if he was the one who had taken more than a thousand blows throughout his time as an exorcist. It was not merely the fact that Lavi did not love him, but the inveitable truth that Lavi could never love him. Lavi was a Bookman; living to observe and record as personas, not to feel and carry one true name.

Before Allen would retire for the night, he would ask himself as he had done so many nights before why he came to love Lavi. Why it had to be someone who could not love and be loved. There was no answer, but only that it had to be, but was not meant to be

Then why had Lavi done the things he had done?

Why did he confuse Allen?

_(...pushing the bangs off to the side with strands flowing through his fingers, he leaned in and pressed his lips lightly against the center of the star-shaped scar marring my forehead.)_

Toy with Allen?

_("...even if the world does not need me, knowing that one person needs me is enough for me to wake in the morning." )_

Use Allen?

_(...shadows dancing against the walls, skin upon skin, shuffling of the sheets, tangled limbs, gasps of pleasure...)_

Lie to Allen?

_("I will never leave you." )_

Subdued to nearly inaudible sniffles, and left with a dampened face, Allen slowly raised his head. With strands of white hair falling into his face, he stared at Lavi with starling blue eyes where innocence and naviety continued to dwell, but were clouded with sheer and raw anguish. His eyes were silently pleading for Lavi to say something, anything...

But the Bookman Jr. said nothing.

After saving the world and mankind with blood staining his hands, the death of too many loved ones breaking his heart, and guilt tainting his soul Allen Walker was granted nothing.

Lavi's silence was betrayal in its own fashion, and yet still enough of an answer for Allen. Without uttering another word, or shedding another tear, the exorcist turned on his heel, and walked away. He was only nineteen now, but his shoulders hung with the weight of too many sins and burdens.

He was still only a child that wanted to love and be loved in return.

But as Lavi had stated, Allen was also a naive fool.

Nothing more, but everything less.

--

**Blinded Ryter** - First chapter is meant to be a tad bit short, but the future ones will most definitely be longer and more detailed. I am not only writing a simple D. Gray Man story for the sake of Allen/Lavi, but I wanted to write about alcoholism and bullimia to the extreme. I also wanted to talk about how there are _so many things wrong with the world today._

I just hope that everyone does not simply read, but understand.


	2. Le Miserable

**The Last Stand**  
_By Blinded Ryter  
_  
II - Le Miserable  
_("The Miserable")_

There were times when Allen Walker wondered if the Earl and the Noahs had been right about cleansing the world of the "filthy men" after all. When Allen would pick up a newspaper in the morning, and see that the majority of the page was about a celebrity having a second illegal wedding with a minor, and there was a small, almost unnoticeable corner where an article about an American soldier's imminent beheading by an enemy country was printed, Allen had his doubts. When Allen would walk down the streets, and see the aristocrats driving their polished vehicles, and children in the alley up ahead holding their hands out and begging for money, Allen was uncertain. When Allen noticed the gradual increase in domesticated abuse, and saw that two unsaid countries were beginning to brawl it out again with guns and air heads, Allen was in demur.

Was this what he and the Black Order fought for?

A world where one country threatened to bomb another, because of the lack of money, or the growing scarcity of oil? A planet where citizens of a communist state threw riots in the streets, while the government stole children away from parents to break and mold them into walking weapons? A society where a lurid celebrity's marriage was more important than a soldier being murdered in imprisonment?

These questions were raw and fresh, swarming in Allen's mind like a fleet of vicious gnats, the first year after the end of the war against the Earl and the Noahs, but after some time, Allen fell into the same pace as everyone else: indifference and apathy. Like the average citizens of America, England, or any developed country for that matter, Allen would watch a report about an atrocious event on the news, say, "That's awful!", then resume his coffee and paperwork, his life completely unaffected. Allen had come to realize after the deaths of Master Cross and several of his comrades that the world did not care if you died. The sun would still rise, the mountains would still stand, the world would still spin, and people would continue to believe that celebrity gossip is more important than the death of an innocent man.

They were all insignificant.

Oh-so-fucking insignificant.

After some prodigious, yet ironic revelation by one religious and influential group that claimed that the Akuma were merely misunderstood, and "good at heart", Allen's reputation had become tainted, his life ruined. The entire population loathed Allen to no end, and if it were not for the protection of the Black Order, Allen would have been stabbed with a pitchfork, and burned with a torch sooner or later. Mothers used Allen's name as a threat against their recalcitrant children, and the name was used as a vilifying title in society.

_"That cannibalistic serial killer that targeted children is just like the horrendous Allen Walker!"_

_"If you don't eat your peas, the Crowned Clown will get you tonight!"_

_"We can't let a genocide in Rwanda continue, or it will end like the way Abbadon slaughtered the Akumas!"_

Allen Walker was the equivalent of the worst villain in the world, and was granted even a new name: "Abbadon, the fallen angel of Destruction."

That certainly made Allen's day better. It would have been the highlight of his entire life if they just happened to pick something else that could have possibly sounded more cliche, lame, and damn straight stupid.

But Allen Walker still knew what was wrong and what was right. He just didn't have the power anymore to step out of his place, and create a change for the better. Allen no longer had the privilege of roaming the land, and with the grant of destroying anyone and anything in his path in order to accomplish a task. The Black Order changed since the end of the war, and in return, so did the duties of the exorcists.

The Black Order became the ruling power of the world, a Hegemony of sort. The countries were allowed to function independently as always, and organizations such as the U.N. and NATO still existed, but the Black Order was the iron fist who slammed the hammer down when enough was enough, and no one could protest or refuse. (To Allen's eyes, this was a bit like Communism, but he could not voice his opinions). As for the exorcists, they were more like military soldiers, since all Innocence left their bodies at the end of the war. Now trained in weapons and technology, they infiltrated fundamental headquarters, aided other government militaries...it was not much different from battling Akuma, minus the Innocence and a few other unearthly happenings.

Saying that much changed after the war was an understatement, but a few things remained the same, but not in the best interest. Allen Walker was the only one left with the Innocence, therefore he still bore the curse, the grotesque left arm, the marring scar, and the pallid shade of hair. Though Allen could still activate the Crowned Clown and his Innocence in general, he was strictly prohibited from letting the Innocence aid him at all times. Allen loathed God for leaving him in such a condition, thinking of it only as a useless curse, and more of a reason for people to call him a monster.

And yet, oddly enough, another thing that did not change was Allen Walker himself. Though he was now twenty-three-years-old, Allen still held an innocent nature, and radiated with a purity that could not be tainted. His smiles were just as radiant and he was winsome as he had been when he was a child. Allen even continued to banter more or less playfully with Kanda, and held an effervescence air around him where ever he went. He could light up any room, still make the best coffee for Komui, and had yet to grow taller than the below average height for his age.

But what no one knew was that this was all a farce, and not a human being.

Allen Walker did not exist as a person, but lived as personas.

The wretched world was not to blame.  
Nor was it the cruel attitudes and malign remarks of society.  
It was not even the despised God's fault.

But a certain red-haired Bookman.

Lavi's rejection destroyed Allen in person, but left him to recreate a persona at the least. Tear down the facade, and Allen Walker was nothing more than a name. The boy learned the art of detaching from emotions, and no longer responding to stimulus. Choosing what emotion to adorn was as easy as choosing what shirt (or uniform, in Allen's case) to wear in the morning.

When no one watched, Allen would lock the bathroom door, and binge everything he had eaten into the toilet. When no one was awake, Allen would retreat to the bars, and indulge himself in his favorite addiction, alcohol. When no one was around, Allen would sit before a mirror, and converse with the shadow of the 14th portrayed in the reflection, and ask the 14th if he could hurry the fuck up, erode Allen away, and possess the boy's body for good.

For three years and more, Allen Walker had been doing this; living his life as a bullimic, alcoholic, deranged liar.

But no one had yet to discover, so why not keep up the act for longer?

So, Allen did. One year, become two years, two years became three...the actor was doing perfectly fine, until a ghost from his forsaken past gave the news of returning.

Lavi.


	3. La Priere

**The Last Stand**  
_By Blinded Ryter  
_  
III – La Priere  
_("the prayer")_

Pale hues of wavering blue stared steadily at the disco ball-like crimson opticals of the small black fly perched upon the portion of the wall behind the toilet. The insect stared back at the deep ocean pools, twitching its head, fluttering a wing or two, and did all of this in an intrigued manner, as if the human being on his knees, and hovering above the toilet was the more degrading and low specimen to observe. Red against blue, Allen Walker attempted to out glare the fly as he breathed erratically, but he knew it was true; he was the degenerate of the two.

After a prolonged moment, Allen's stomach lurched once more, and the fervent sensation rushed up from his insides and to his upper chest. With one hand holding his hair back, and the other hand gripping the side counter of the nearby sink to brace him, Allen's head jerked downwards with staggered timing. The bile left Allen's mouth with the repulsing noise of a dying wild animal. An acerbic taste lingered on the young man's tongue, but instead of vomiting the remains of a meal, Allen threw up lucid vermilion. When his stomach was empty of food (since he binged his dinner before going to the pub last night), blood was the next source to pool into the porcelain bowl. The blood would then disperse as soon as the lukewarm liquid touched the surface, and tint the water a even darker shade of scarlet.

Allen was so well-adapted to this entire ordeal that it became a routine to him, and his body followed suit in the wretched pattern. At certain hours of the day, his body would binge on its own, with a gracious warning of burning in his guts, just on schedule with perfect punctuality. Though, due to other physical matters, Allen was still left out of breath, and his throat burned as if Hades' summoned scalding flames of blue fire from Allen's lips. One day, Allen would lose his voice, or he was supposed to from all the damage inflicted on the inside of his throat. He had been doing this for years; was it the work of the Innocence still keeping his voice smooth and clear?

_'It won't stop me from dying, so what the Hell,'_ Allen thought to himself with a sense of morbid amusement only he, the fly, and the 14th could understand.

Irregular breathing, loss of energy, and burning throats were nothing compared to the terrible hangovers. Allen was still vulnerable and easily prone to the worst hangovers considering the abundance of alcohol he consumed nearly every night. Ever since he even sits up in bed at a certain time in the early morning to binge, the migraine begins to pound in his skull maliciously. Each step taken send tremors from Allen's feet and to his head, thus exacerbating the pain even more. Unfortunately, aspirin, Tylenol, Advil, and etc. were not great help; he had grown such tolerance to such medication, if he took any larger doses, he would end up dead on the bathroom floor.

Cliché, but it was true.

So, what was the panacea for such horrible migraines?

Allen years of training in the Black Order. He learned how to grow tolerant to most damages, seeing as how he even had his arm disintegrated at one point.

_'Mind over pain, mind over pain.'_

Allen could endure the migraine, but it was even more annoying than Kanda.

Knowing that his body would no longer surrender anything else, Allen reached a hand out to flush the toilet. With dim eyes, the young man watched the rose-colored liquid swirl in a violent vortex before vanishing down the drain. Then, Allen raised his head, and saw that the fly was still perched upon the same spot, and stared at Allen with its accusing eyes. A small smirk graced Allen's lips in mockery and irony.

"Perhaps one day, all the poison inside of me will be gone," Allen remarked in a flippant manner. "Wouldn't that be a day of celebration, Mister Fly? A day when the Devil has washed away his sins, and left behind only as a shell to wither away into dust."

Suddenly, Allen laughed. At first, he did not realize it was his own laugh; the sound was hollow with a hint of madness, and distorted like that of a wounded animal's.

He was talking to a fly.

A damn fly.

Still giggling, Allen pushed onto his feet as he wiped the trickles of blood from his chin withthe back of his shaking hand, and staggered over to the sink, so he could clean himself up. After ridding of the foul taste in his mouth, and washing his face, Allen pulled his hair back neatly, and tied it into a ponytail. For no particular reason, Allen decided to grow his white hair out after the end of the war, so now it reached a few inches past his shoulders, but just like Kanda, Allen kept it tied, since the pallid locks did get in his way every now and then when he kicked the door down to an enemies' hide out, or frantically tried to escape Kanda's spur of the moment outbursts.

Giving the black hair tie one last twist around the base of the ponytail, Allen gave a small nod of silent greeting to the 14th who was standing behind him in the reflection. The shadow of the boogeymanthat haunt children's nightmares was lurking in the mirror with a face concealed by entire pitch black, and adorning a simple suit that it wore every time. The ominous creature nodded in return, and did nothing more.

"Silent as always, huh?" Allen jested with a grin, though he knew that the 14th would never utter a word. "Or are you admiring my looks?"

To any observers, Allen would have appeared to have been talking to himself, and in some sense, that was true; the 14th was a part of Allen, but not Allen. At least, not yet. One day, Allen would erode away, and become the 14th completely, as Cross stated. He would also kill someone he loved. Allen was trying to speed up the process of "erosion" by destroying himself with binging, alcohol, and dozens of more acts, but the latter would never happen, because Allen Walker was now a person that could not love and be loved. Therefore, there was no one left to kill.

"What do you do while you're not in my reflection?" Allen queried in a casual manner, tapping on the 14th's chest lightly. "Haunt other peoples' reflections? Hook it up with some ladies?"

The 14th said nothing.

Allen gave up, though he was hoping for some verbal response; it could have been a sign that he was finally "eroding" away. Would Cross' statement ever come true? Was Cross watching over Allen right now from Heaven, because once Allen was eroded he would be...gone.

Not dead, but gone.

He would simply no longer exist.

Stifling a yawn, the young man turned off the lights in the bathroom as he walked out, and approached his closet. He opened the door to reveal his wardrobe: seven identical black and white uniforms, trademark of the Black Order. The uniform changed after the end of the war into something less unique and something more identical. Each member of the Black Order wore the same uniform, with the exception of genders and ranks to vary, but the designers still held their fetish with the colors black and white, the crosses, and the superfluous zippers.

Snatching the "Monday" uniform out of the closet, Allen quickly dressed into the garments. After the last zipper was pulled, and his laces were tied, Allen fished a pair of gloves out of the right pocket, and shoved his hands into them. It was not required to wear gloves all the time, but for the sake of concealing his left hand, Allen did so. He was unashamed of any of his abnormal physical attributes, but after seeing the reactions of some of the newer members of the Black Order when Allen did anything with his left hand, Allen decided to be virtuous and hide it away.

"Well, then," Allen said to the 14th, who was lingering in the mirror built on the outside of the closet door, "let's go. Kanda's probably going to have my arce for checking in late."

The said exorcist was standing in the corridor outside of Allen's apartment room with his arms crossed, his brows knitted into a scowl, and Mugen hanging on his belt near reach. Mugen was no longer an Innocence, but still a sharp blade capable of decapitating a human being without the slightest hint of effort. Therefore, Allen did pay mind to stay clear of the sword's path.

"Good morning!" Allen greeted after locking his door, and stepping up to his comrade with the usual jaunty skip to his step.

The older exorcist let out the trademark "che" as he stood up straight, and shot Allen a glare before beginning to walk. Kanda was probably one of the constants in Allen's life; the older man never changed. Kandastill looked feminine with the long ponytail, he remained to be the most choleric human being on earth, threatened everyone and everything with Mugen, and still called Allen by the "nickname".

"You're late, Moyashi."

"IT'S ALLEN!" the young man exclaimed, creating an uproar that could have awaken the entire country of England. "My name is Allen Walker. Come on, say it with me. A-LL-EN. ALLEN-"

Allen Walker ceased to speak and breathe when the tip of Mugen entered the center of his view in a black blur. Rigid, Allen blinked and stared at Kanda with wide eyes. It was common for Kandato sentence a deathwish with Mugen, but rarely did he draw his blade in such an early hour, or something trifle as Allen being late. After a moment of observing those hardened blue eyes, Allen's eyebrows raised slowly as an assumption crossed his mind.

"It's Ichigo, isn't it?" asked the younger man, referring to Kanda's boyfriend.

Yes.

Kanda Yuu had a boyfriend, a lover of sort.

The only thing that changed when it came to the exorcist, but also the one thing that shocked the entire Black Order once the news was out. Ichigo Kurosakiwas one of the handful of new recruits, along with the Kuchiki siblings, Toushiro Hitsugaya, the Elric brothers, and a few more oddball exorcists. Allen still didn't see how in the world such two different people found romance, but he could see that it was something genuine and real, so he accepted the relationship, and supported it.

Kandastared at Allen hard before lowering his blade, and sheathing it with a sharp _chink!_ that resonated throughout the atmosphere. The exorcist turned around, and began walking as he answered.

"Yes."

Raising an eyebrow, Allen followed, and fell in stride with Kanda.

"More detail would be helpful," Allen said, suppressing the sarcasm in his voice.

"The idiot," Kanda began to say without hesitating to call Ichigosomething foul, "got in trouble again with his superiors. Again."

Allen didn't bother to ask what Ichigo did, since he knew all too well that the younger man was something of a rebel when it came to being subordinate.

"Who was the superior?" Allen queried.

"General Byakuya," Kanda answered almost through his teeth.

Allen cringed. Though Byakuya was a stoic, it was his cold anger that was threatening. His younger sister Rukia was more lively and expressive, but she was known to berate Ichigoruthlessly nearly everyday, and with good reasons.

"He's still young-" Allen attempted to say, but was cut short by Kanda.

"He's a year younger than you."

"Are you calling me old?" Allen asked in fauxoffense, then added seriously, "He's just a bit wild, but we bothknow that he's a promising solider. He'll be one of the best, trust me." Allen paused as he gave a cheeky grin. "Anyways, you guys always make up before the day is over, so you'll probably have a night full of hot se-"

"Moyashi, do you want to die?" Kanda hissed, sending a death glare to Allen, in spite of the fact that he was blushing to the truth in Allen's words.

_(Yes.)_

Allen laughed like the silly little boy he was at heart as they stepped out of the building, and began treading across the stone-paved courtyard.

"Not today, Kanda," Allen replied. "I think I'll die another day."

"Che..."

The two exorcists bantered playfully to no end, just like the old days when they were traveling the world, being children that were fighting to right the wrongs of their past ancestors. In the past, they were all so fiery with determination, and fresh with spirit. Though Akuma, the Earl, and the Noahs roamed the land back then, the world seemed a bit brighter than. The great-scale damages and tragic deaths of too many to count united mankind in a morbid sense, but today everyone was once again separated by political parties, religious sides, ethnic teams, and even the absurd orientation battles spurred.

Allen still did not understand why everyone could not live in peace with themselves and one another.

Perhaps it was because mankind was a race of fundamentally insane creatures. Put a group of human beings in one room together, and within minutes they will divide, debate, fight, then kill. For this reason, politics, religion, and many more (silly, in Allen's opinion) things were created.

Let the people believe in what they want to believe.  
Let the people fight for what they need.  
Let the people love who they are meant to be with.

From what Allen observed and concluded, the culture of society was to blame. Take the non-heterosexual orientations debates going on the world today. These arguments and protests were growing to a state where it had become a modern crisis. What if the everyone in the world was born into a society that was homosexual? Wouldn't a man that loved a woman in such a world be wronged in the same way gays, the lesbians, the bisexuals, and etc. were today? What if the world was born bi-sexual? Wouldn't it be a happier place?

There was the argument of religion involvedwiththe orientation crisis, but from what Allen gathered, the only issue was becauseof the lack of reproduction. Allen honestly doubted mankind would ceaseto exist, because people unwilling to make children, since humans were known for their streak of vicious survival, but Allen also observed that those of a certain religion were trying to force their own religion upon the non-heterosexuals when they were non-believers. There was no need for such a thing.

Though Allen did not support or disapprove of non-heterosexuals, he believed everyone had the right to love who they wanted.

Just take a moment, and say this out loud to yourself, "You cannot love that man, just because you are a man."

"I am a father, and I cannot love my son anymore, because he is gay."

"I have not spoken to my daughter for more than ten years, because her partner is a female."

Does it not sound absurd?

If it does not, then perhaps you do not realize that love having restrictions and boundaries is one of the most ridiculous things created on Earth. Hence Allen's strong dislike for society. He didn't feel, but he still didn't like the world.

When did the hero become a misphilantropist, Allen often found himself asking. He was like Scrooge in an odd sense, and sometimes believed he should carry around a sign slapped onto his back saying, _"I hate mankind."_

And yet...Allen still loved people, especially the children. He loved the poor, the abused, the hungry, the unfortunate, the misunderstood, the unloved.

Allen raised his eyes to the sky that stretched across the world like an uncharted vast ocean of starling blue, a shade brighter and more starling than his ethereal pale hues. Everyone was still standing under the same sky after the end of the war, but their hearts were beating out of time now.

Allen exhaled a deep breath.

He wanted to change the world.

Oh, God, how much he wanted to change the world for better.

"Moyashi, stop staring off into space," Kanda snapped, reeling Allen back to reality.

"It's Allen!" Allen replied with a scowl, though Kanda simply brushed off the rebuke.

"Che."

A silence fell between the two as they began walking down the granite steps, and took the route to headquarters branch A-3. Allen knew the cause for the silence: Lavi. Today was the day the Bookman was returning, for reasons Allen still did not know of, but neither of them had brought up the subject yet. Kanda most certainly wouldn't be the first one to talk about Lavi, since it would ruin his ego, or something else absurd along the lines.

That was why Allen had to bring up the subject, as much as he never wanted to utter the Bookman's name again, but the smile on his face said different.

"Aren't you excited?" Allen asked enthusiastically, a bright light sparking in his eyes. "I can't believe Lavi's coming back!"

Kanda gave a half-hearted shrug, which was considering to be a generous amount of expression from the exorcist. He appeared to be stoic as always, but Allen did catch the flicker of vague fondness in the hard sapphire eyes before they returned to their piercing state.

"The question is _why_ the stupid rabbit is coming back," Kandacountered with his own question, being all business like as usual. "I'm assuming that he's returning to the Black Order, since it would be easiest to record history or whatever shit he does when he's part of the top line in the hegemony."

"Maybe he's just coming to see us," is what the Allen Walker of teenage years and childish naivety would have said.

But Allen was twenty-two-years-old now, so Kanda would have expected a more sophisticated answer out of the young man.

"I see," Allen simply replied as they came to a pause in front of the opaque white doors.

The cutting-edge technology sensors read their presence, and within a fraction of a second, identified the two exorcists as General Yuu and Allen Walker. Allen was not a general, a lieutenant, or even a solider, but simply Allen Walker. The Black Order decided to prohibit ranking Allen, because he was a trump card of some sort, and claimed him to be "special", but Allen and even Kanda knew the true reason as to why they gave the young man no rank.

He was not a soldier of the Black Order, but their greatest weapon that happened to breathe, think, and walk. The only human being left with the Innocence, they refused to see Allen as a human being, but were smart enough to keep him within their cage, and use him like pulling a rifle out of its case, or pressing the big red button, and set off the great weapon of mass destruction.

The entrance doors slid open with a soft hiss, and the two exorcists stepped inside, their stride matching the others'. The lobby to the A-3 building was fairly empty, considering how most of the higher rank officials were instructing the morning drills, or already sent away with assignments. Allen and Kanda approached the front desk to check-in, but as soon as they entered their names into one of the dozens of flat-screen computers built into the stretching counter, the blue screen was flooded by flashing red, and a briefing for an urgent mission appeared.

"Maron," Kanda muttered under his breath as he skimmed the briefing. "Liberation rebel riot against the Black Order embassy."

Allen read in silence, and narrowed his eyes at how many causalities there were. The digits were gradually increasing on the screen, as the number of wounded bodies and dead corpses were filling the streets of this nearly-communist state country. Allen sometimes wondered why the soldiers weren't informed about such missions earlier; people were dying by the second.

Allen knew the answer.

It wasn't important.

The lost lives, _the loss of innocence lives_, were not important.

Without another word being said, Kanda canceled the briefing screen, returned it to a homepage with a light skim of his fingertip across the screen, and the two exorcists turned to briskly walk to the dispatching station, but today, Allen broke out into a run. He ignored Kanda's puzzled protest, and ran only faster.

This was not a part of facade. He was breaking his own rules. He wasn't supposed to care, but he _did._

The citizens.

The parents.

The children.

God, _the children._

The innocenct children were being killed in the cross-fire, or left wounded to sob with despair over the remains of their dead parents.

_'Heaven help us,'_ Allen prayed inside of his mind as the thunderous footsteps echoed in the corridor.

--

Blinded Ryter: Yes, there was a mentioning about non-heterosexuality, but Allen's point of view was merely my opinion and belief, therefore you cannot sue me. I apologize if you found that offensive in any manner, but I warn you, I am not going to sugar coat any of this, because I am writing about our reality in our generation in ourworld. I had to bring up the matter, and I probably will again once or twice, because it's quite obvious that orientation has become a "crisis" of this generation. If you have opinion you would like to talk about, feel free to leave a review whether you support my argument, or not.

P.S. Thank-you to all of my reviewers, readers, and those who alerted or favorited this story! I am glad to see that people are reading and enjoying it (:


	4. Le Fantome

**The Last Stand**  
_By Blinded Ryter  
_  
IV – le fantôme  
_("the ghost")_

When Allen said earlier today that, _"everyone stands under the same sky", _he always came to realize there was a catch to such a phrase when he climbed out of the black steel transportation vehicle, and stepped onto the ground of the activity zone. The sky stretching above and across was still vast and infinite like the uncharted oceans, but these oceans were dark shades of morbid grey from all the smoke gathered up in the Heavens. Black cocktails crawled across the sky in thin trickles like veins, pulsing as the ambiance from the sound wavesof deafening gunshots and blood curdling screams pierced through the suffocating atmosphere. As the city slept in flames, the horizon was kissed with flickering and lurid streaks of warm orange, brilliant yellow, and savage red.

The sky was supposed to be a gateway to Heaven, but it appeared as if God sent the down the Armageddon, and left forsaken this land long ago.

Allen did not understand. How could the sky be so beautiful in one place, but so wretched in another?

Questions ran around in circles like blind mice inside of the soldier's mind, but Allen had no time or interest to seek out the answers. All thought was erased from Allen's mind, apart from the sole desire to accomplish the mission like a programmed robot given no free will. The fervent emotions Allen felt minutes ago extinguished like a flame when he geared up, and remebered that he was not a human being, but a soldier. Allen thought he understood Kanda a bit better now; it was easier to be a soldier when you could not feel, be a walking weapon, and treat the victims like meddlesome vermin.

When all of this first began, Allen would be the one to get shot, the one to almost die. He could not pull the trigger at a father fighting for the lives of his children, or a young teenage girl struggling to find her place in the world. Therefore, Allen got shot in the midst of the rigid shock, and a soldier or (usually) Kandahad to save his ass. One day, fed up with his comrade being a joke to the subordinates, and tired of seeing someone like his brother continuously break under the pressure, Kanda finally shoved Allen against the wall, and pressed Mugen against the young man's neck.

_'This is war!'_ _Kanda barked, grime covering his face, and scarlet staining his clothes._ _'This is fucking war, and **you. are. a. soldier.!** No matter what, you will carry out your orders, and if the orders are to kill, then kill! If you want to die, I'll kill you myself!'_

The only thing Allen said that day was,

_'What are we fighting for?'_

Kanda gave no answer back then, and would not now, simply because there was no satisfying answer.

_'We need to protect the the people, by the people, and of the people.'  
'We need to preserve peace.'  
'We fight for freedom, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness-'_

**Bull.  
Shit.**

Protect the citizens?

The soldiers were slaughtering the citizens. They were killing human beings, creatures that laughed, cried, loved, and hated just like them. There were no orders to _"protect the citizens"_ in any of their briefings, because their lives, the loss of innocent lives, did not matter in the "big picture".

Peace?

What _peace? _There was never any peace to begin with, and the Black Order were certainly not peace keepers or peace bringers. Peace has always been and will be nothing more than a silly little word, and a hand gesture of two fingers.

Freedom, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness?

Is it freedom to live under a hegemony, and be told that you have a list of rights, but there is always a twist in each one, so that you are left with _no _rights? Is it liberty to have an unjust system of court (rebels and prosecuted didn't even have trials; they went straight to the incinerator)?

And if there is happiness, then it is only ignorant bliss.

Lies. All pretty lies spat from the Black Order's mouth, and shoved into the mindless citizens minds' to make them appear like the truth. The best way the Black Order did this was by controlling the media and press, though the citizens had no awareness about this, not even the ones who worked in the media and press department. The owners of the media and press were merely puppets, and the puppeteer was the Black Order. Those who honestly believed that the regular evening news, or the daily newspaper gave the honest truthwould have to an ignorant fool...or merely the average citizen. How could the people know any better, when they lived in their two-story homes, and in a typical neighborhood? They were not the ones fighting for their lives, or fighting to kill others. The only sight they had into the outside world was the damned glass screen, and the printed papers.

But no matter who you were, or where you came from every single human being deserved the truth.

Allen knew better, but by then, he no longer cared. He was no longer a hero, a savior, a human being, but a soldier. It was then, Allen thanked Lavi.

_'Thank-you, Lavi, more than ever, because now I cannot feel, therefore I cannot be human. Now, I can kill and never feel a thing even when I know the faces, but never the names.'_

The task of the mission was to protect the Black Order embassy, and bring everything to a cease fire. The six-unit task force sent out to Maron were also ordered to "seize" all rebels in the process, and take action if necessary.

There was no mentioning about_ "protect the citizens, the families, the father, the mother, the children..."_

The world was over-populated, but the Black Order finally decided to take action not long after the end of the war. A world-wide two-children policy was passed, and no one protested, because no one _could_. Even right now, the Black Order and the other organizations were considering a one-child policy. Therefore, the soldiers were doing a favor for the world by getting rid of a couple thousands of people that had no future, no money, no power.

Though, Allen saw the flaw and the impracticality of the two-children policy. If there were more people, there would be more labor, more produced goods, therefore a better economy, though not nessacarily a better country. The world would be producing goods at a faster rate, but the moronic and imbecile superior powers only saw the over-population as a hinderence.

Once all of the six units filed out of the vehicles, they dispersed in different directions as planned. General Yuu, Mugen in one hand and a Dakota-finish MX-4 in the other, led one unit, and Allen Walker, armed with two Marx 92-3s, did the same. Kanda'sunit was to head towards the embassy buildings as soon as possible, and Allen's unit was to trail behind, cleaning up the mess, and ferreting the remaining rebels. The units spread like an army of savage ants across the dying city where heaps of rubbled with limbs clawing at the sky protruded, and flames of burning houses licked at the shadows. The asphalt was washed vermilion, mutilated bodies filled with bullet holes covered the streets like packed salmon in a stream, and wounded ad crying children were sitting in the alleys, cradling whatever remnants of their parents they could find.

This was not what you see on t.v.

This was reality.

As the men and women dressed in black and white uniforms, the clothes of deathreapers, ran through corridors, a hail storm of bullets rained upon them. The skilled soldiers evaded the shots, and raised their guns in the various, yet precise directions as they were trained so skillfully in back at headquarters. With the piercing light of a killer emitting from the base of the hardened blue hues, Allen aimed at the sixth-story window, and pulled the trigger. The single bullet zipped through the opened window, pierced through the skull of the rebel sniper, ricochetedoff the wall, and gunned down two more men. Killing three men with one bullet was something even the newest soldiers were taught to do, considering how the Black Order taught the most vicious attacks.

Blood splattered through the windows and dyed the air scarlet for a moment before corpses tumbled out, and fell to the ground.

It was raining bullets.  
It was raining blood.  
It was raining bodies.

Within a matter of a minute or two, a dozen men in this corridor were dead one way or another, but there were most likely a handful more hiding inside of the buildings on either side. Witha flick of his hand, and short words, Allen dispatched six men with Jean Havoc, Commander Mustang's second lieutenant, in charge. Now, Allen was left with fourteen men (he vaguely noticed the irony of the number) to carry them out forward.

Aim. Fire. Run. Aim. Fire. Run. Aim. Fire. Fire. Fire...

Allen's unit gradually dispersed over time as they tried to cover more ground, and seize as many rebels in the most efficient manner. It was told in the Black Order that if someone tried to shoot you, you had all permission to shoot first, and the grant to kill upon instinct. Perhaps this was why Allen didn't believe in the word "seize"; they weren't capturing anyone, but butchering all of them with little judgement of who was rebel and who was not, as if this city was just another slaughterhouse for filthy pigs.

What were these people fighting for? Maron was supposedly a decent city, and most definitely not a slum. Why were they unhappy? Why did they feel the need to bring up a revolution?

Perhaps Allen was more blind than he thought.

After a few minutes, an eerie silence reigned king throughout one city block Allen wandered within alone, since the rest of his soldiers were off in other areas. One of the other generals reported to Allen that the embassy was now under control, but also warned the soldier to be on the look out for anymore ambushing. There was no estimate count as to how many more resistance fighters were left in Maron.

With soot streaks across his face, stray strands of his white hair falling into his eyes, and his limbs aching all over, Allen treadedover piles of crumbled houses, and lifeless corpses gazing at the sky withglass eyes in chary and caution. Dark stains of red was splattered all over his dirty uniform, and one enemy even managed to rip Allen's right sleeve off, and scratch the exposed flesh with his nails. Four scratches ran down Allen's arm like bright red screams, and hurt like Hell. Allen's breathing was slightly erratic, but his endurance had yet to tire. Allen was no where near running out of refill magazines, but his index fingers were now numb from wrenching the trigger back a countless number of times. There was a dull throbbing in the exorcist's right side, bruises would more than likely form all across his arms, and his legs were suffering from throes. More than once did Allen use the new techniques taught at the Black Orders, the ones that involveda mixture of lethal martial arts with more violent intentions and fatal results.

How many men did Allen gun down, or literally mutilate limb by limb with his hands, the soldier could not recall. In his opinion,_ 'Too many'_, but he dared not to think too much about it. Was it because Allen was a soldier that he was justified to kill so many people? Just because he was in a military?

What happened to Allen praying for the families, the parents, the children back in headquarters, right after he read the briefing? Was God answering Allen's prayer by making the man live up to the vilifying title, "Abbadon, the fallen angel of destruction"?

No, Allen Walker was just a hypocrite. Everyone in the world was. Everyone, the presidents, the prime ministers, the politicians, the school teachers, say things they don't mean, and act in the exact opposite way. The hypocrisy was not ironic, but simply disgusting and degrading. Allen just happened to be one of the few that was aware of his own hypocrisy, and was driven by guilt to go to the pub, and indulge himself in alcohol, a vain attempt to wash away his sins.

Allen's vigilant attention caught the noise of something peculiar from one of the shattered windows in the house to his left. Narrowed blue eyes diverted to the direction, and gazed at the empty window frame for a steady moment before locking his weapons, and approaching the house. Compared to rest of the homes and buildings in Maron, this one managed to stay intact, apart from a few broken windows, and a hole in one of the walls.

Allen didn't even bother to knock or even use the doorknob; he simply kicked the door down, then step inside. It was strange; Allen entered with such vehement force, but strode inside with the grace and gentleness of a polite priest. But then, religious figures these days were not to be trusted as honest and good men from what Allen observed.

The house was dead silent just as the city outside. There was a cold atmosphere that allowed Allen's footsteps to echo, no matter how softly he tread across the faded carpet. The interior of the house was what was supposed to be of a normal family's, apart from the knocked over chairs at the dinner table, and deserted dishes; most likely from an abrupt seek for refuge. From room to room, Allen wandered like a predatory wolf seeking out the hidden lambs. Without any consideration for the family of this house, the soldier kicked over tables, dismantled furniture, ripped curtains away, and literally tore the doors of closets and wardrobes away from the hinges, and tossed them over his shoulder carelessly.

_(Hypocrite)._

After having caused a calamityunder the roof in silence, Allen was about to declare this house as empty, but he came to an abrupt halt when he heard a barely audible noise, a small cough, from behind. He turned slowly on his heels, and to stare at a blank wall where a large portrait of country landscape hung. After a moment of pause, Allen briskly walked towards the painting, and used the tip of his gun to latch one end of the frame, and swing his arm to the side, so that the portrait would be pulled off from the wall, and thrown across the room, only to land in an ear splitting crash that caused splinters and fragments of wood to explode across the floor.

Withthe portrait gone, a space the same only a tad bit smaller in size than the portrait was carved into the thick wall neatly. Huddling in the revealed space were three children holding onto each other protectively, and a mother hunched over them in defense. The children stared at Allen withwavering eyes, and the mother held them in her arms protectively. Just like the hundreds of mothers Allen saw in the past, this woman also held a ferocious light in her eyes, as if she was willing to do anything and everything to protect her children. The children did not stare at Allen with wavering eyes, even though they should have been afraid, because he was obviously Abbadon with that white hair and marring scar, but these children were not scared. When living in a world such as this one, children grew up too fast. The word "childhood" was a vestigial one, because these children grew up knowing _everything._

But then, children _always_ knew everything. Everyone else was in their own absurd denial.

There was no reason to kill this family, but one: three children. Three siblings. Two boys and one girl with matching blonde locks and hazel eyes. The youngest one, who could be no older than four-years-old, was the third child.

The boy was a Third.

There were several ways to break the two-child policy, but only one consequence: execution. If the family did not abort children born after the second, or give him/her up after birth, and even went as far as to hide the child, they were sentenced to death as well. No trial, no second chances, no questions asked.

Allen raised both of his guns without a single emotion flitting across his face.

"Don't kill the children," said the mother in a steady voice that was threatening to tremble. "They did nothing wrong. They're innocent."

_'I know.'_

_(Hypocrite)._

Allen Walker fired the fatal shot. The gunshot crackled like the backfire of a car engine, and the bullet pierced through the woman's skull cleanly. Her head was snapped back as her neck broke from the impact, and along with the fragments of her skull falling like pixie dust, globs of grey brain pieces, and a hiss of blood shot out from the back of her head, and splattered onto the wall behind. Blood flowed like a waterfall from the entrance hole in the front, and cascaded onto her trembling children's heads. The woman's head lolled, and her eyes glazed over like glass.

Allen was generous this time, and the children knew it; the exorcist granted the mother an instant death.

Instead of staring in fear with pleadingeyes, the three children glared at Allen with a ferociouslight flickering in their intense hazel hues. Their gazes were the most accusing in the world, because children can see the truthand only the truth, and yet they lie the best withputting up the facades of light-hearted silly littleboys and girls. The children, all possibly under the age of eight, held such an intimidating aura, and appeared as if they were ready to kill Allen with their bare hands.

And yet, the children still trembled in fear as tears trickled down their dirty faces, but the tears were ones of heated outrage and sheer incredulity.

"You're Allen Walker, right?" asked the oldest boy.

Allen remained silent as he locked the gun, and aimed both of the pistols at the two oldest children's heads each.

_"You were supposed to be a hero!"_ screamed the child with such raw anguish stricken across his grieving face, as if all his hope died away the moment his mother was murdered. "You were supposed to be a savior!I looked up to you, I admired you, _I believed in you_no matter what people said, but you're worse than the Akuma! You're the Devil, Allen Wa-"

The boy ceased to speak when Allen put a bullet to his head, and the child died in the same morbid fashion as his mother. Allen lowered his arm, then pulled back the hammer of the arm that held the gun to the little girl's head. She casted a glance at her dead brother for a fraction of a second, then looked back at Allen not with a glare of hatred, or a wide eyed stare in fear, but simply a steady gaze. The girl shook her head for a reason Allen could not fathom as her face contorted in pain.

"I loved you, Allen Walker," cried the little six-year-old girl, who always believed Allen would be the one to bring a better change to this world. She shook her head once more, because she felt like a fool for believing in Allen in the first place, and even as she sat before her hero that pointed a muzzle at her head, the little girl _still _believed Allen would save the damned, the broken...the people. Drawing in a shaking breath, the girl closed her eyes for a brief moment, then opened them once more. "I believed in you."

The third gunshot resonated in the air, and soon afterwards a limp body collapsed into the dead mother's lap. Blood trickled down the girl's forehead and across her face, causing her golden locks to matagainst her head. Withher eyes clouding over by death's veil, the little girl looked like a broken porcliean doll.

Finally, it was the Third'sturn. The youngest of the family, the four-year-old stared at Allen with wide eyes that should have held innocence, but instead there was nothing as tears trickled down the child's face slowly, and dripped off his chin one by one. How could someone shed tears, but not express a single emotion?

"What are you fighting for?"

The soldier's only answer was giving the last child a bullet to the head. In the same manner as his family, the little boy's eyes glazed over before he fell into his mother's arms. The sight before Allen was like the painting of a horror and macabre style, and Allen was the sadistic and ruthless artist.

Allen stared dimly at the dead family of four withthe same stoic face he presented to them before their death. Not a single emotion wavered in his heart, nor did anything flicker in his eyes. Seconds, minutes, moments past as Allen stood there in silence.

_'You were supposed to be a hero!'_

The weapons slipped from Allen's hands, and clattered onto the ground with a muted thud.

_'I looked up to you!'_

Weak legs giving way to collapse, the soldier fell to his knees in surrender to his emotions. One by one, pieces of his mask chipped off, and fell to the ground only to shatter into dust like fragments of glass.

_'What are you fighting for?'_

Doubling over until his head touched the ground, Allen Walker gritted his teeth, and closed his eyes tightly as he tried to supressthe sobs threatening to surface and escape. Clenching the clothabove his heart, so tightly that the fibers tore apart, his frame began to tremble.

_'I loved you, Allen Walker."  
_  
Allen killed innocent people.  
Allen killed innocent children.  
Children that believed Allen was the hero, the savior, the good guy.

And Allen...Allen let them them down by taking away their last breaths.

_'I believed in you.'_

More than ever in his life, Allen Walker wanted to die.

"I'm sorry..." the young man, who was still a child too innocent at heart, sobbed in grief, "I'm sorry...I'm sorry..."

The family of broken dolls painted in shades of red did not answer Allen's apologises.

_'What are you fighting for?'_

-x-

With approximate estimation, more than three-thirds of the population in Maron was killed that day. The Black Order already gave footage of the rebels firing at the Black Order, and throwing flaming rocks at the embassy building to the media. The press was _ordered_to write only short articleabout this, and dictate it in a manner that was not as tragic and devastating as it truly was, and perhaps even print it on the same page as a longer and more sensational article about a celebrity. After all, the general public was more interested in the upcoming US elections, raising oil prices, and the latest teenage singer, so it would not be difficult to palliate what occurred in the dead city Maron.

There was a low murmur of casual conversations in the vehicle of filthy and exhausted soldiers as everyone headed back to headquarters. Allen sat besides Kanda in silence, but in his head a tumult of gunshots, shattering skulls, and words of the children whipping around like a wrathful storm.

Allen's brows knitted together slightly as a sickening sensation stirred in the pit of his stomach. What was wrong with him today? Why was his composure, his facade, his mask beginning to chip away? Didn't Allen already destroy his heart, and purge the remnantsinto the toilet along with his insides?

_'You were supposed to be a hero!'_

Allen's bereft thoughts trickled down into something subdued, but still agonizing when he saw from the corner of his eye the tip of Mugen'shand probe at the torn area of Allen's uniform where he had ripped the cloth above his chest, above his heart.

"Got in a brawl, Moyashi?" Kanda asked, being the first one to start what he assumed would be a somewhat casual and mocking argument.

"I killed three children."

Allen spoke in a barely audible voice, but Kanda heard him clear enough, and even took note how Allen did not react to 'Moyashi' as he always did. Allen did not look at Kanda, but he already knew what his comrade was expressing: disdain. Kandawas beginning to be a bit chafed with Allen. How many more battles would it take for the soldier to finally accept his duty, and ask no questions? When would Allen finally know his place?

"Allen-"

"What are we fighting for?"

This time, Allen proposed his question softly, but said it in a manner that was heard clearly by all the soldiers in the vehicle. Kanda tightened his grip on Mugen, and if they were in a spacious area, Kandawould have shoved Allen into a wall again, and this time maybe even stab the soldier with Mugen.

"Are you questioning your duties, soldier?" asked the General.

"I'm questioning the world, General," Allen retorted in mockery as his eyes turned to glare at the man who was supposed to be his friend, but then, camaraderie meant nothing in the military. "It's called having free will, and having a sense of right and wrong."

"It's called being insubdorinate, and too pensive, damnit!" Kanda barked, his voice raising into something threatening.

To the other soldiers' eyes, Kanda and Allen were acted out of character. Rarely did Allen provoke Kandato such extent, but with the fragmented flashbacks of the dead bodies, the mother's glare, the city sleeping in flames, and the innocent children's faces, Allen's composure was beginning to falter. The soldier was beginning to feel again in spite of all the hard work he put into detaching from all human emotion, and destroy the ability of even responding to outer stimulus.

But Allen Walker did not care. Perhaps his heart was still shattered by Lavi's doing, but his soul was beginning to kindle into a flame that burned ferociously. The fuel were the children's words, and Allen's own strong will that was sparked as well back into its ferocious intensity. Allen always knew there was something wrong withthe Black Order, this society, this world, but he never acted upon his conviction until today, and Allen was going to start with asking questions.

He was going to seek out the truth, and only the truth.

"Is it wrong of me to question why the Hell we're killing innocent people, and making it worse by lying to the rest of the world as if we're the good guys?!" Allen shouted, clenching his fists tightly as his body became stiff with sheer outrage. "Lives are being lost, but what are we gaining? Back when the Akuma were around, we were fighting to save mankind, but what about now? Don't we need to save mankind from ourselves?"

"Alle-"

_"We're supposed to be heroes!"_ Allen shouted, his voice bouncing off the walls, and striking something strange, different, and real _(the truth?)_into the other soldier's hearts- even Kanda's. _"We're supposed to be saviors-"_

Allen was cut off short and sharply when the back of Kanda's hand struck across Allen's face in one harsh blow. The initial impact of the backhand was not as harsh and stinging as the biting humiliation that followed. And yet, instead of appearing shocked, Allen glared at Kanda head on, and did not let his gaze waver. This did not faze General Yuu though.

"I told you once, but I'll say it again," said the exorcist in a calm voice, but one that held a harsh cold edge. "We're destroyers, not saviors. Do you understand, soldier?"

_'You're supposed to be a hero!'_

Allen did not answer and would not answer to something he did not believe in.

"Do you understand, soldier?" Kanda repeated through his teeth.

"Yes, sir," said Allen.

It was not an answer.  
It was a lie, and Allen Walker was the best at lying.

The two exorcists held their glares upon the other for a moment longer before breaking the eye contact by turning their heads. The other soldiers continued to stare at the two, and instead of returning to their conversations, they lowered their eyes to the ground. No one spoke a word, but everyone thought the same thing within their minds as they began to question themselves in a way they never had before.

_'What are we fighting for?'_

-x-

"Your suspension mark will restrict you from outfield activity for three days, due to insubordinate behavior, Allen Walker," said supervisor Komui Lee.

Allen stared at Komui hard as he was trying not to seethe in anger. This was Allen's first suspension mark, and it was marked by General Yuu. The two exorcists would not speak for the rest of the day, and perhaps even longer, but Allen would eventually apologize to (his superior) Kanda, and the two would return to their usual routine as if nothing happened. It was all part of the farce, right?

"Yes, sir," Allen simply said.

If there was anyone that could outmatch Allen's facades and Kanda's stoic nature put together, then it was Komui Lee. The man changed drastically after the end of the war...or more spefically, after something tragic happened to his younger sibling, Lenalee Lee. After taking a bullet to the head in an attempt to save an innocent child, the girl fell under a coma, and has yet to awaken for more than three years. Komuino longer laughed at his own silly and lame jokes, ran away from paperwork by running around the halls like an idiot, and did not even smile. It was without a doubt that Komuiwas one of the people who suffered the most in the war's aftermath, but Allen had no right to say that, and wanted to retract the thought.

Suffering is suffering, no one's is greater or any less than their neighbor's. It just happened to be that everyone suffered alone.

Standing besides Komui's desk was his secretary, Gracia Hughes, who also held the same demeanor. Allen was introduced to Gracia Hughes by the Elricbrothers after the three became friends, and were invited by the Hughes to celebrate their daughter Alicia's birthday party. Back then, Gracia was a woman witha kindred heart that loved to smile, and scold her husband in a stern, but joking manner. It was not long afterwards that her husband, MaesHughes, and who also happened to be Commander Mustang's closest friend, was shot in the battlefield. The shooter has yet to be caught, and soon after Maes' death, Alicia was killed in a fire when the Belurx terrorists bombed the girl's elementary school to give a warning to the country. Allen recalled that at the funeral, Gracia did not cry; she no longer had any tears left to shed.

_'This is what war does to people,'_ Allen told himself long ago. _'War takes away, and gives nothing back.'_

"I will be expecting no such behavior anymore, soldier Walker," declared the supervisor, then lowered his eyes back to the paperwork he was attending to before summoning Allen to his office. "You are free to go."

_'Free...'_ Allen thought in his head as he gave a bow, then turned around to leave. _'Free...free will...freedom...'_

As Allen walked through the pushed doors, and down the corridor to head towards the nearest exit, so he could run away to the nearest bar, Allen clenched his fist. The little children's faces flashed before his eyes one by one within a fraction of a second.

_'What a joke.'_

-x-

When Allen binged after returning from the bar, he was more violent and vehement usual. Instead of letting his insides churn and hurl on its own, the boy shoved his hand down his throat ridiculously and alarmingly far, and even tried to scrape his nails against the warm insides of his throat, mouth, and anything else in his reach. His other hand was holding onto the side of his stomach, and digging its nails deep, so that the skin would break, and blood would be drawn. With his eyes bleary from the alcohol, and his mind not lucid, but hazy, everything was in a blur in the bathroom as Allen rocked back, then thrust himself forward. The bathroom lights above were so brilliant, and the color of the tiles were swirling together, and threatening to swallow Allen whole.

The young man felt so filthy all over, as if a horde of maggots were squirming and crawling across every single inch of his flesh. There was also a poison, burning hot with a merciless intensity, blossoming from his chest, and spreading across his body like a savage wildfire, and setting every fiber of Allen's being aflame. He needed to get rid of this poison from _inside_ by purging it to _outside._

Alcohol was supposed to help Allen forget, but apparently, the drinks only did the trick before and after the late night binge tonight. When hovering over the toilet, all the emotions pent up inside, and buried deep ever since Lavi's rejection broke out like a flood held back from a crumbled damn. Allen Walker cried, gasped, screamed, yelled, and muttered or shouted words incoherently. Fortunately, the walls were supposedly sound-proof, and he lived alone, but...

That was it.

Allen Walker was alone.

He stained his hands with so much blood to save mankind from the Akuma, and this was what he gets? To walk this world alone as a walking weapon of mass destruction?

_"...three children!"_ Allen cried out in travail, before he gagged awfully, and pulled his hand out of his mouth as bile surfaced, and pooled down into the toilet. "I...killed...three children!" the soldier, the exorcist, the human being sobbed hysterically as his frame shook due to the convulsing sobs. "I was supposed to be the hero, but..._but...!_"

Tears cascaded down the young man's face in scalding streaks, and breathing was so hard. Living was so hard. He wanted to die, he wanted to suffer, he wanted to burn in Hell, because he deserved all of that and more. Allen had no right to live, to feel, to love, to be happy. Why was it that the innocent always died, but wretched monsters like him continued to live?

The devastated little boy that had been holding out for a hero, for Allen, all his life.

The broken hearted small girl who loved Allen, because even though she never met Allen, she saw through the lies, and came to love him even to death.

The Third...the youngest child who cried not for himself, but for his mother, his siblings, for the world,...and for Allen.

_'What are you fighting for?'_

"Why?" Allen screamed in utter despair before closing his eyes even tighter. What would Mana and Cross think of Allen now? "_Why does the good always die?_ **_Why?!_"**

Finally, the blood began to plunge into the toilet. If it weren't for Allen's burning throat and hoarse voice, the young man would have broken into a hysterical fit of screams and shouts at the sight of the shades of red, the same color of all the blood he spilled for three fucking years. It was not as if Allen killed one person per day, but dozens and dozens nearly every day of the week. Why was such an atrocious thing going on? How could anyone stand for this?

When all of the blood was vomited into the porcelain bowl _(family of porcelain dolls),_ and Allen's stomach was empty and hollow just like the space in his chest, he lingered before the toilet for a few minutes crying softly not for himself, but for all of the lives that were taken away. To Allen's anguish, it was a fact that no one would bury the bodies, but burn them, because it cost less money, and the big shots, even the ones who supported the stop of global warming, didn't give a flying fuck about the environment. All that mattered was here and now, and that was wealth, power, and reputation.

After a few minutes, Allen finally reached out with a steady hand, and flushed the toilet. He stared at the white tiles dimly before clawing at the wall to push himself onto his feet. With a stagger to his step, the drunken fool, the blind citizen, the heartless monster, the human being walked over to the sink, and held the edges of the counter to find his footing in his current unstable and dizzy state. After Allen finally caught his breathing, and no more tears were leaking from his eyes, the man raised his gaze from the sink, and to the mirror.

Allen parted his lips in a silent scream.

No, it was not the shadow of the 14th, who was always doing what it did; simply just standing there with no emotion on his concealed face, and not uttering a single word. Allen's heart nearly came to a stop when he saw his reflection, his face. Was this him? Was this Allen Walker? What happened to the innocence clouding over those dull pale hues? What happened to the hope that once emitted from crystal base of the sapphires? This...this face was a ghost. A mere shell of the valiant hero that brought the end to the Earl and the Noahs, the shining savior to the children's eyes.

Allen ran his fingers down the glass where his cheek was, and not the 14th's.

"This is not me," said the man.

That's right. Allen Walker is no hero. No savior. He was nothing, but a tool, a pawn, a weapon. He has no power to change the world.

Allen Walker could do nothing.

Accepting this fact, this truth, a sense of calm washed over the man. As Allen washed himself, let his hair down to flow loosely around his shoulders, and cleaned the bathroom, Allen began creating a new set of masks for himself, and instead of being made of opaque glass like before, these were created by solid steel. The metal may bend, but it would not break like the fragile glass, the fragile man Allen used to be. The children's words were still remembered, but now they were merely just words; they held no meaning. The words could not evoke raw emotions from Allen anymore, because once again, the man destroyed himself tonight, and was reborn into someone new from the ashes and embers.

Before unlocking the bathroom door, Allen shot a glance at the mirror not to see the 14th was there, but to confirm that he looked like a dead man, and indeed, nothing flickering in the vacant blue eyes.

Turning his gaze to the door, Allen pushed the door open, and turned the light off in the bathroom as he stepped out. Trailing a hand against the wall for balance and guidance, Allen stumbled down the dark and empty corridor, but did not get very far when he caught the faint silhouetteup ahead in the shadows. Allen drew to a halt, and narrowed his eyes as he attempted to see who the this stranger was. Allen was so caught up in the alcohol (his head was finally beginning to buzz), that he didn't even feel alarm for the possibility of having his purging practices discovered, and his emotional breakdown exposed. Hell, Allen didn't even care if the intruder had a gun and the intentions to kill Allen.

But then, when Allen realized who the person was, he simply came to a stop. The heavy and thick fog in his mind cleared out a bit only the slightest, and oddly enough, a vague clarity was brought to his head, but Allen did not stop breathing, or wear a shocked expression on his face. His heart did not cease to beat, and healing scars did not turn back into reopened wounds. The man did not even clench his fist, draw his arm back, and strike out a savage punch.

Shock, fear, and anger were all emotions, but to Allen, they were simply words.

Allen Walker felt nothing as he stood face to face with Lavi, the ghost from his forsaken past.

--

Blinded Ryter: This is a long chapter, and I don't care if people have anything against long chapters. Expect this story to be a long one, because I still have a shitload of more things to say.

Otherwise, thank-you everyone for the reviews, favorites, alerts, and reading this story in the first place (: I am glad to hear that people are enjoying it, and seeing the meaning behind Le Concerto Finale. Also, be expecting to see characters not just from other animes, but fictional books, movies, t.v. shows, and etc. Reality is epic, so this story is epic as well. The idea of the "Third" is from Orson Scott Card and his Ender series, so there you have it, a Disclaimer. I am enjoying all of the feedback, so do not hesitate to tell me anything from comments about the story to opinions about the themes and topics written. Thank-you, everyone!


	5. Le Menteur

**The Last Stand  
**_By Blinded Ryter_

V - le menteur  
_("the liar")_

**"Should I applaud you or berate your for this move?"**

**"Which one? The new Chinese labor protocols, the negotiations in the Lebanese district, the Maron media and press edits-"**

**"The Bookman, sir."**

**"Ah, yes. Well, you should not have any opinion for that. There has yet to be an outcome, though I have already set things up as to where the result can only be absolute."**

**"If He meets the Revenants, they will go after the I-Radar."**

**"Yes."**

**"..._well_?"**

**"I only want to see the world burn. Is that such a crime?"**

**"In this society? No shit, Sherlock."**

**"We've structured this society as to where they lack the ability to think for themselves, and set ourselves in a place where we hold the strings. People will just about believe in everything if you can make it sound true, and honestly, I'm beginning to wonder if_ your_ brain has gone too soft."**

**"Fuck you."**

**"Again? But we already had sex last night!"**

**"..."**

**"Can't think of a comeback, huh?"**

**"What if He decides to be a hero again?"**

**"So, be it. Heroes are good guys, we're the good guys, so He'll come to us, and if He doesn't, we'll just take Him alive."**

-x-

A heavy silence formed in the air, and enveloped around the two young men as they stared at the other with gazes they could not fathom. The lack of understanding and ken was partially due to the dark shadows of this late hour inside the flat, different levels of black playing on both of their faces, and concealing their features. The remaining reason as to why they simply stared, and did not talk was, because in this moment, in this hall, in this flat they were strangers, and not comrades, friends, or...lovers.

No, they were never lovers. Not when Allen was toyed and used at whim, but the exorcist only had himself to blame: he was a naive fool, as Lavi kindly put the last time they met. Allen simply accepted the fact, and was not going to drown in self-pity for it. Allen felt nothing for, of, or about Lavi for years, though the unhealed wounds still remained in hidden places. The opposite of love was not hate, but apathy.

And Allen Walker did not care about Lavi (if that was his "name" this time) the slightest.

_'I could never love you-'_

_'Shut up,' _Allen hissed in his mind as he ceased Lavi's old words in his head.

Allen didn't want or need words, words he believed held no more strings to whatever vulnerable wounds he still bore, to surface within the encasement of his fragile mind that was guarded by facades. To say that Allen felt nothing was a lie, but he felt something that was not an emotion. In the center of his chest was a heated cloud of poison, tense yet airy enough to spread to all limbs slowly like trickling ink, and suffocating enough to choke the air out of his body. Second by second, Allen's chest tightened, and he just wanted to scream.

For three years, Allen Walker had been telling lies, and ironically enough, everyone believed in them, and soon enough Allen himself became a lie. No one ever saw through his masks, no one ever questioned if the phrase _"I'm okay,"_was valid, no one ever made a second guess as to whether or not the exorcist was really happy as he played out to be. There were times when it was almost impossible to separate lie from truth, reality from dream, and genuine emotion from artificial feeling. There were times when Allen even believed his own lies, and sometimes he found reality easier to face when blinding himself from the truth.

But penting up troubles, insecurities, and emotions while pretending and believing they didn't exist could only be self-harmful. Allen wanted to scream, because he needed to rid of this growing poison inside of him. Allen wanted to drop behind all the weapons and the uniforms, and run away, so he could breathe.

But here Allen still was lying, binging, drinking, killing, and suffocating. Here he was destroying himself in such a slow rate that could only be agonizing and unbearable.

Tonight, the poison felt worse than ever. Was it because Lavi was here tonight, and possibly heard enough to slip out Allen's secret practices of destroying himself? Or was it because of the children Allen killed today?

Or maybe, Allen Walker, weary, exhausted, and drained was finally reaching his limit, and was on the brink to insanity. He would gladly give into madness, and live in a faux world of delirium and chaos.

Allen almost laughed.

Who was he kidding? He already lived in such a world. Everyone on this planet called Earth did.

Allen suppressed all of the negative impulses that threatened to ruin his facade(s), and picked one of the masks from his mental closet, so he could adorn it upon his face, and do the thing he did best besides murdering, slaughtering, and destroying: acting.

Blinking in "surprise", Allen took a few steps closer to the other male, so that the two could see each other in better light once they were within closer proximity. Allen was silent for a moment as he digested Lavi's subtly new appearance. The Bookman was certainly taller than before, (or maybe Allen just grew shorter, since he never seemed to grow taller), and he no longer wore the silk scarf woven with a intricate dragon that breathed fire around his head. His red hair was simply left down, the fringe covering his right eye. The black and simple eye patch was replaced with a white clinical one, with two strings instead of one. The last few features of late adolescence was replaced with early manhood, thus making Lavi more charming and alluring with the new years he gained.

Perhaps, what did not change was that single hazel hue of his. There was a lively light of a child's spirit emitting from the deep depths of maturity and wisdom, and if Allen could mentally link his nerves with the emotional receptors, perhaps he would be infuriated by the warmth of camaraderie fondness in Lavi's eye. Was that genuine, or an act? Did Lavi think that he was already forgiven, or was he unaware of what he did to Allen in the first place?

"Lavi?" Allen called out in a curious manner, playing a farce of the child he used to be when Lavi last saw him.

Lavi did not skip a beat in this act, but who was the one fooling and fooled between the two?

"Yep," Lavi answered, his voice a note or two lower than before, but still light-hearted and mellow as usual. "Sorry to come in so late, but I just arrived in the Black Order a few minutes ago, and Komui said I was to share this flat with you. You wouldn't mind, right? I just let myself in with the key right now, and...yeah, sorry about this. I had no idea."

_'So, he didn't hear me in the bathroom...?'_ Allen thought, but was still uncertain, so he decided to keep his guard up.

Allen gave a small laugh.

"It's fine, so don't worry," Allen replied, the joy of reunion clearly heard in his voice. "It's so good to have you back! Everyone's been really excited, you know? Kanda acts like he doesn't really care, but I know he does, and a lot of the new recruits are eager too meet you and-...ah," Allen paused in the middle of his prattling, and smiled sheepishly, "you must be exhausted. Sorry for the ramble. Uhm, I have one bed, and a pullout sofa, so you could take the bed-"

"This was originally your flat, so I'll take the sofa," the Bookman replied with an apologetic smile. "Sorry for the short notice, and intruding on your privacy."

"It's fine," Allen brushed off with ease as he walked pass Lavi, and beckoned for him to follow. "I'm not even home a lot most days, so it's not a big deal."

"Diligent soldier, eh?" Lavi queried as he trailed behind Allen.

"With Kanda threatening to gouge my eyes out with Mugen?" Allen said, casting a glance at Lavi over his shoulder. "Well, then, yes, I could be what you call a diligent soldier."

"I'm guessing Yuu hasn't really changed then," Lavi remarked with a grin.

"If Kanda gave up on his choleric antics, it would be the end of the world," said Allen as they entered the living room. He reached over for the light switch on the wall, and lit up the room with the dimmest light. "You can put your stuff wherever you want. Make yourself at home," he said as he hooked his hands on the underside of the frame of the sofa, and pulled out the bed.

"Thanks, Allen."

It was odd to hear Lavi speak Allen's name again, and there was something equally odd stirred within the pits of the abyss in his heart, but Allen quickly extinguished the embers. He didn't want there to be any chance of becoming attached to Lavi in any fashion, or even thinking that Lavi could be trusted. After all, a Bookman's world is all paper and ink, not relationships and people.

"Hey, Allen," Lavi addressed as he set his bag down on the faded carpet, and turned his eye to the younger man. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Allen chimed, standing up straight, and shrugging one shoulder casually.

"Do you hate me?"

The question rang within the Allen's head softly as he stared at Lavi's stoic face. Allen gave an answer that was both the truth and a lie; he did not hate Lavi, but only because he did not care about Lavi.

"Are you referring to what happened three years ago?" Allen asked, then continued after Lavi gave a nod. Allen chuckled quietly in small amusement. "We were both naive and young back then with raging hormones," lied Allen, describing something that used to be more sacred and precious beyond words. "Still just children, you know? I think we've both grown up and mature to the point where we can just accept what happened, and move on, so I'm not holding any hard feelings."

_('Hypocrite'.)_

_('Liar.')_

Allen was not only lying to Lavi, and perhaps that wasn't his intention at all, because Allen Walker was lying to himself, and he did it well. He could look himself in the mirror, and say, _"I never loved you,"_about Lavi as it were the truth, because Allen turned it into the truth. He turned the truth into lies, and lies into truth. Allen wasn't only a walking weapon, but a walking contradiction, and the hypocrisy was enough to make him throw up (literally) with the excruciating disgust and frustration he felt towards himself.

Lavi's face did not contort in anger, or stricken with pain, but simply relax in relief before grinning crookedly like he always did.

"That's what I was thinking too," replied the Bookman as he ran a hand through his hair. "Though, I always thought you would hold a grudge of some sort."

"It's kind of embarassing if I think about it," Allen mumbled, and even had the talent of bringing tints of faint scarlet to his face in a flawless blush.

Lavi chuckled as he tousled Allen's hair in the same manner he had ruffled the pallid locks years ago. The fingers unwoven themselves from the white strands, and withdrew like wisps of air. Allen sighed inwardly not in content, but relief for not having responded in a irrational way and remained "normal", because Lavi's touch _burned._

"You don't need to be embarrassed," Lavi reassured as he leaned his weight onto one side. "We were just silly little boys back then who didn't know any better, and well...it was a game where we gained experience. Homosexual attraction is something most adolescent boys go through, so you weren't in the wrong, Allen."

For a fraction of a second, Allen's pale blue hues were like fragmented windows with dozens of erratic cracks, and the broken panes reflected remorse and...hurt. A game? How could Lavi possibly describe Allen's feelings as...something so trivial?

The hurt was gone as swiftly as it came. Allen nodded and smiled.

"Thanks," he said, then took a step back as he smoothed down his disheveled hair. "It's pretty late, so I'll let you sleep. It's good to have you back again."

Lavi grinned.

"Thanks."

"I'll let you rest for the night, then. Good-night," Allen bid, and once Lavi echoed the phrase, he turned to walk down the hall, and into his room.

Once the bedroom door was locked, the young man's knees gave way, and he slid to the ground. With his back against the door, Allen sat on the carpet gazing out into the darkness as he waited for minutes until complete silence fell upon the flat. The man with a child's heart closed his eyes tightly, and gritted his teeth as he struggled to stay strong.

_'I have to be strong, I have to be strong,'_Allen chanted repeatedly in his head as he tried to suppress the poison gnawing away at his heartstrings, and leaving him undone.

_"We were just silly little boys back then who didn't know any better..."_

Hands clenched into tight fists.

_"You never cease to amaze me, Allen."_

_('Liar.')_

_'You cannot be weak. You cannot be vulnerable,'_ Allen was screaming inside of his tortured mind._ 'You cannot feel, you cannot care-'_

_"I love you."_

A strangled noise escaped.

_('Liar.')_

A tormented heart ached with travail.

_'You cannot trust others, you cannot be dependent, you cannot be hurt, you cannot cry-'_

_('Hypocrite.')_

For the third time that day, Allen Walker broke his own rules, and wept silently.

-x-

_"With the Bookman in the Black Order, it's going to be even harder to get Him out."_

_"Not quite. It may actually be easier, and it may not change anything at all. They've isolated Him and set up specificly designed stimulus over the years as to where His emotions can be detached if and when needed, and molded Him into the perfect machine, the perfect white pawn."_

_"Exactly. Into _their _perfect machine, _their_ perfect white pawn. Not ours."_

_"That's because we will think of Him as a human being, and not a tool. Never will I treat anyone the way _he_ treated me."_

_"I'm sorry, but I can't trust Him."_

_"I know. Neither can I, but I believe in Him, and for now, that's sufficient."_

_"You're saying you have faith in him? You, of all people?"_

_"Yes."_

_"...what if He turns on us?"_

_"He won't."_

_"How are you so sure?"_

_"I'm not, but I'm willing to raise the stakes."_

-x-

One. Two. Three. Six. Eight-...

Shaking his throbbing head, Allen slid six rogue-coloured pills back into the plastic bottle, and swallowed the remaining two dry. Apparently, he had trouble counting this morning, but Allen had no intention of overdosing just yet. Throwing the asprin bottle back into the drawer, and closing it shut, Allen withdrew his hand from the nightstand, and groaned as he leaned back against the wooden headboard. The hangover felt just as awful as any day, but this morning, Allen's throat actually burned for the first time in years since he began binging. He assumed it was because he scratched the inside of his throat multiple times with his nails as he shoved his hand down last night. Fortunately, Allen could still speak fluently, but each syllable uttered set the inside of his throat aflame.

Exhaling a deep breath, Allen glanced at the digital clock. The blearly red letters read a quarter after six.

_'Why the Hell did I wake up so early...?'_ Allen asked himself, feeling disgruntled as he mussed his hair lazily.

Leaving the question unanswered, the exhausted exorcist sat on his bed with daze clouding over his eyes as he attempted to fall asleep or completely awake, which ever one decided to come first. To his dismay and disdain, Allen only recalled the dream he had last night, a memory of the happier days when he and Lavi were being "silly little boys playing games." Due to the hangover, Allen's brain couldn't quite register what the Hell he was recalling from the dream, but he only managed to clearly compute one of Lavi's pretty words and empty promises.

_"I will always love you, Allen."_

"Liar," Allen growled bitterly under his breath as he closed his eyes tightly. "Liar, liar, liar. You're such a fucking liar, because you never even loved me in the first place."

Allen remained still and silent for a few more seconds until he managed to push away the genuine/artificial (he was having difficulty deciphering what was real and what was not this morning) emotions. Once passive and somewhat lucid, he climbed out of his bed, and instead of heading for the bathroom to binge his daily morning hangover, he got dressed into whatever casual clothes he could find, and tied his hair back with half the usual effort. Without making his bed, or washing up Allen staggered out of his bedroom, and towards the flat door. As he drew towards the end of the corridor, he glanced at the living room, and saw that Lavi was not there, but a small piece of paper was lying upon the pulled up sofa.

Sighing softly, Allen approached the sofa, and picked up the note.

_"On a mission. Be back later. - Lavi"'_

Allen stared dimly at the paper before crumbling it in his hand, and throwing it carelessly over his shoulder. He honestly didn't care where Lavi was, what he was doing, or when he would be back. Rubbing his face tiredly, Allen turned to walk towards the door, but came to a halt as he passed by the trash bin, and saw a crumbled piece of paper with so many crossed out words and scribbled phrases that it was nearly illegible to read. Only one phrase with one line drawn through it stood out clearly, and caught Allen's attention.

_"...I don't love you anymore."_

Allen glanced over his shoulder to where he threw the note he read earlier, then back at the trash bin. It was most definitely Lavi's handwriting, and there were at least a half dozen more crumbled pieces of paper in the trash bin. Did Lavi write what he wanted to say over and over, until he finally trickled down into a simple and unmeaningful message?

Allen reached down for that particular piece of paper, and once he had it in his hands, Allen tore it to shreds over and over until white bits were falling into the trash bin like flurries of snow. When there was nothing left in his hands, Allen dusted them off his pants, and turned to leave the house without ever looking back.

_"I don't love you anymore."_

_"I will always love you, Allen."_

"You fucking liar."

-x-

The bars and pubs located within the nearby districts of the Black Order headquarters tend to function 24/7, because Allen Walker was not the only soldier who took solace in Comrade Rum, Brother Beer, and Sister Scotch, hence the good business. Allen only went to the bars and pubs soldiers did not go to, because he didn't want rumors going around the Black Order that he was a regular customer, therefore an alcoholic. It wouldn't necessarily affect his reputation at the Black Order, since Allen didn't even have a rank, but Allen didn't want to face Kanda if the General were ever to find out Allen was a drunken fool, and lied to him for three years about his alcoholic antics.

Allen decided to crash at the nearest place he could find, which happened to be one of the most violent pubs in town, but Allen couldn't care less at the moment. The only reason a few people inside of the pub bothered to cast a glance at Allen was, because he rarely came in the mornings. The drinkers' interests in Allen was gone within a second as they turned their attention back to a small brawl in the corner, and fights were so common that the bar owner didn't bother to settle it unless someone brought out a gun.

Making his way through toppled chairs, and turned over tables, Allen found his way to the isolated stool at the counter, and rubbed one of his temples as he sat down.

"Early bird, eh?" asked Morris, one of the bartenders Allen knew well (but then, Allen knew every bartender in the city).

"Supposed to be on a mission by this time of day, but I got suspended," Allen explained in a hoarse voice, carding his fingers through his loose bangs. "So, I decided to pay you guys a visit, and keep the business running."

"How kind of you, Mister Walker," Morris remarked with a smile. "What shall I get you?"

"Plain scotch, small glass, please."

With passing time, one became two, two became three, until Allen had eight glasses set on the counter before him. He lined the small glasses in a neat row, the amber liquid swirling within as the dim light played upon the glass, and with chin in hand, Allen could only think how pretty the glasses looked. This was a habit of Allen's if he had the impulse to drink, but needed to keep his alcohol consumption in check. He would order drinks, line them up, and just stare at them, but not drink. It wasn't nessacarily a waste of money, because Allen was paying the bar, and whoever was lucky today would get eight free glasses of scotch.

Allen was circling his finger on the circumference of one glass with dull eyes when he heard the word _"Maron" _emit from the t.v. perched upon the ledge above the opposite end of the counter. Slowly, Allen raised his head, and glanced at the screen where a news anchor was opening up the article about yesterday's crossfire at Maron.

_"The Maron rebels began attacking the Black Order embassy in an attempt to invade the building, thus forcing the Black Order troops to take action," _said the reporter, who was now walking across the scene of the aftermath where the sky was still morbid grey, and the remnants of the buildings were heaps of rubble. _"The situation was taken under control in a matter of minutes, but the savage rebels gunned down at least half a dozen soldiers, and even more than three-fourths of their own population..."_

Scenes of homes thrown over in turmoil, citizens hurling aflame rocks across the sky, and soldiers falling to the ground were shown along with dozens of other gruesome and graphic clips. And yet, all the clips were not as intense and raw as what Allen witnessed first hand. There were no mutilated limbs hanging from lamp posts, no children cradling their parents bodies in the alleys, or people falling out of buildings, because then the focus would be upon the people of Maron, not the _"savage rebel beasts"_ wrecking the city, and shooting soldiers.

It left who the true victims were in question, but Allen knew the truth.

Allen blinked dimly as he mused about how the media could spin the truth into lies, so that the Black Order was always in the right, the light, the good. Were the citizens so stupid that they had yet to realize that the clip of the Black Soldiers falling to the ground with holes in their bodies was already shown six months ago in a different report? How could the Black Order pass something such as showing the dead citizens they killed, and claiming that the rebels slaughtered them? Ah, and the diction was something Allen always found amusing. Using _"savage beasts"_ instead of _"protesting citizens", "district"_ instead of _"city",_ and _"heroes"_ instead of _"mindless murdering soldiers."_

This was nothing out of the ordinary for Allen, and for the people that watched the news. Even though Allen fought in Maron yesterday, he couldn't particularly feel anything. The other people in the bar would comment, saying things such as,_ "Shit, that's terrible!",_ or even make humorous remarks about people being shot, but they didn't care. No one these days cared about any of the atrocious and tragic events going on every day, every minute, every second, because it did not affect their personal lives. They weren't the ones who lost a mother, who lost an arm, who lost their home.

If God was to give one new commandment to the people of this era, it would be,_ "Bless the indifferent, the apathetic, and the ignorant for they shall multiply and cover the Earth."_

Long ago, Allen read Le Miserable by Victor Hugo, and one passage spoke about the gullitone, and all those who saw the beheading of the sentenced. The witnesses were shaken to the core, and the guillotine was an instrument that could not leave those who saw its deathly fall remain neutral. One must pick a side (for or against) after they witnessed someone's execution, but what about today? Everyday people watch cities blown up into ruins, soldiers kick down the doors into civilians homes, and see clips of school shootings, but no one was taking sides; they were all remaining neutral. Violence became such a normal part of everyone's daily lives, therefore the world was desensitized to all of these tragedies. Allen wanted to know what changed from Hugo's time to the present era, why people couldn't tell right from wrong, and how people could live their lives peacefully knowing that people were starving to death, or children were being abused by their own parents.

The apathy and indifference would one day be mankind's demise.

Allen could only think with utter despair, _'This wasn't the world I fought for. This wasn't what Mana, Cross, and everyone died for.'_

Allen was thinking the same thing once more, but his train of thought was broken when he saw something startling from the corner of his eye, and heard a round of vile curses and low whistles. He turned his head to see the scene of the hole in the wall where a family of four with bullets piercing their heads. There was a zoom in on all of their lifeless faces, the pallid skin liberally painted with vermilion and small grey globs of their brain. Arteries and veins hung out from their empty skulls like frayed wires, and they all sat inside the encavement of the wall as if they were a painting for all the viewers to engross over their deaths.

_"...in one house that was entirely wrecked_ (scenes of the rooms Allen turned over and dismantled showed) _this family of four was found brutally murdered-"_ the reporter began to say, but Allen could not register anymore words or rational thoughts.

With a hot flash of outrage exploding within him, and his face going livid, Allen jumped to his feet, thus toppling over his stool, and knocking over a few glasses. The cups shattered onto the ground with delicate tinkling and a sickening splash. Eyes were upon Allen, but instead of staring at him for the odd sound initially, their interest changed when they saw the sheer infuriated look stricken across his face, and the blood trickling from his clenched fists. His body was shaking with unspeakable wrath, and his vision was blinded by sheer red.

_"...the names of this poor family were Anna Heine, John Heine, Susan Heine, and Jack Heine, a few of the innocent victims in this massacre-"_

Allen wanted to break something. They, the media, were doing it again: they were showing one of the most inhumane and gruesome clips, stating what happened, but not _who _committed the act.

Who do you think the people blamed?

The Maron rebels.

"Thank God they killed those beasts!" one of the drinkers cried out in slurred words. "I can't believe those Maron bastards could do such a thing!"

_('I believed in you.')_

"It's fortunate that we have the Black Order, aye?"

_('You were supposed to be a hero!')_

_"Some innocent citizens were left alive, but died due to fatal wounds in hospitals..."_

"At least the Black Order gets it right, unlike the Hector troops, or the damned religious fundamentalists."

_"...there were at least five-hundred causalities-"_

6, 893 people died, but everyone would be satisfied with the words "at least."

_('What are you fighting for?')_

_"Peace has been restored to the city, and the remaining civilians are safe-"_

_**"Stop lying!"**_

Allen's barked words bounced off the walls, and caused tremors throughout everyone's being. Once again, all eyes were turned to him, and they recognized him instantly. The only question was whether Allen Walker, Abbadon, was drunk or not, but from the ferocious light flickering in his narrowed hues, and the lucid appearance over all, the people in the pub could assume that Allen was in his right mind.

"Whatcha blabbering about now?" someone asked from afar.

"The truth," Allen said between erratic breaths, but with complete calm. "I speak only the truth."

The solemn note heard in Allen's simple words struck something strange and unfathomable inside of every human being that occupied the bar. Silence reigned king, and even those who were once engaged in a brawl were so mysteriously stirred by Allen's voice that they drew to a temporal halt. Standing under the dim bar lights, Allen Walker presented himself to them not as a soldier of the Black Order, the notorious Abbadon, or the exorcist that defeated the Earl and Noahs. To them, Allen Walker was just another human being, but there was something different about the man, just as how Abe Lincoln, MLK Jr., and Gandhi appeared to be normal citizens, yet different in a sense many did not understand.

Allen didn't know what he was doing, but only that he had to.

"I speak only the truth," the man echoed in a voice that was passive, yet strong and resonate enough to ring throughout the air. "I fought in Maron yesterday, and I have seen what the media does not present. I have seen children cradle their mother's heads in their arms, I have seen soldiers shoot people without regard as to whether or not they were rebel or innocent, and I have seen unjust be done to the right."

"How can we believe you?" someone yelled in opposition. "The media doesn't lie! The government would never lie to us!"

For a fraction of a second, every single person in the pub stared at the man in incredulity at the outrageous words, then paused as they realized that something was indeed wrong; they just didn't know what.

"The media wants you to live in fear," Allen stated, "but the government wants you to feel safe, but only when they're in power. And for you to feel safe, you have to trust them, and do you know how they gain your trust?" the man asked rhetorically with disdian to his tone. "They twist diction, they choose specific clips, they feed you trends about being plastic and photo shopped, created a society where we fret over calories and carbs, built an age of everlasting paranoia, and let you live in a country where celebrity news is more important than the reality of children starving to death!" Allen shouted, his voice gradually growing louder as his words grew more fervent.

"And yet, do you realize that you are a minority?" he asked, making eye contact with people at random, but with intention to evoke guilt, becaue indeed they were all guilty in this universal crime. "The majority of the world are running for their lives, killing their neighbors for food, and fighting for what they believe is right! But _us_?" Allen nearly whispered as he gestured to himself, and shook his head as his face contorted with conflict. "What are we fighting for?"

No one answered.

"Let me ask you this," Allen proposed, taking a step forward. "Do you honestly and genuinely care when people in Darfur are being killed?"

No answer.

"Did you ever think about what you could do to help when the children in Rwanda are starving?"

No answer.

"Did you protest over the Two-Children policy, or keep your mouth shut, because you couldn't find your voice anymore?"

No answer.

"Do you take the life you have for granted?"

No answer.

A few people were no longer looking at Allen not, because they did not want to hear his words, but because they were stricken by their own guilt.

"That scene of the family of four with bullets in the head," Allen said quietly, knowing that what he would say next would turn all odds against him, "I killed them. I broke into their house, I found them, and I killed them, and do you know why? Because they had a Third in their family-"

"That was no reason for you to murder them so ruthlessly!" a man barked in outrage, jumping to his seat, and banging his glass down on the table.

"Those kids could have been no older than eight!" Morris, the bartender, shouted.

"How could you possibly do such a thing?"

"You're a soldier!" someone screamed, and even threw their glass at Allen. Allen did not move with the intention to be struck, because he deserved it, but the throw missed. "You're supposed to protect people, not slaughter them!"

"How could you murder a mother right before her children's eyes?"

"You killed people just, because they had a third child in their family? Where the Hell is the justice in that?"

"You should be the one in jail, the one sent to the incinerator!"

"You're supposed to be a hero!"

Allen stared at everyone straight ahead as he endured the insults and remarks, and with each passing second, they grew more vilifying and crude than before. Would God speak to Allen in such a way when he died? Is this how Lenalee would berate Allen if and when she wakes up? Would Mana and Cross shout at Allen the same way if they were to meet in the afterlife?

Soon, the pub was cacophonous with the tumult of angry and outraged voices, but suddenly, the voices decresendoed into low murmurings as an epiphany dawned upon them all.

Allen could not have been the first soldier to do such an immoral thing. How many times did children die for no real logical reason? How many more innocent people suffered deaths in which the murderers were justified by the media and press? How many times had they been living under these lies, and believed in them?

Suddenly, in one corner, a man began to cry in a manner that was convulsing, unashamed, and full of frustration. More people began to cry, and even Allen tilted his head back, closed his eyes for a brief moment, and shed a few tears in silence. Vain attempts at stifled sobs, and strangled noises filled the air. Even if they were all drunks or alcoholics, they were still human beings, and in this one moment, there was a sense of unity where they cried for the victims, the innocent, the wronged, the hungry, the poor, the homeless, the abused, the broken, and the damned. Everyone even cried for the soldiers, the Black Order, and Allen Walker, because they knew that no human being on Earth would choose to commit such acts on their own will.

The world was now in a state where soldiers of the Black Order were needed, but at a heavy price. The people of the world made the Black Order into what it was today. No one had anyone to blame, but themselves and their fellow men that all lived in apathy, indifference, and ignorance.

When Allen regained his composure, and wiped away his tears, he opened his eyes, and looked at everyone again. He called their attention in his true voice: weary, exhausted, and strained. For the first time, people realized how much of a burden this man, this...child had been carrying upon his shoulders, and it was not pity they felt, but sincere sympathy. Why must one person bear such weight on their own? they wondered.

And yet, many people still glared at Allen, because he was still a murderer, a wrong doer, a miscreant.

"I have a favor to ask of everyone," Allen began to say, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. "I am in no such position, and hate me if you like, but please do not broadcast what I said today to the entire world right away, because I want you to contemplate upon what you felt, ask your own questions, and find the truth in your own way. Please know that the truth is just that: the truth. There is no good or bad truth, but only the truth."

"What if the government begins arresting us?" someone asked, and others nodded their heads in agreement.

"Arrest you for what you believe in, and voicing those beliefs?" Allen queried with a small smile. "Then so, be it. Once you find what you believe in it, and believe it to be the truth, you will not be afraid, because right now, I'm not afraid to die. I would rather die for something, than live for nothing. Also I'm not asking you to create a rally or anything that public unless you wish to do so."

Allen exhaled a deep breath as he paused for a moment before raising his brightly lit eyes.

"Start asking questions, because there are so many hidden answers, and if you can find someone who may be questioning as well, talk to them, so you can tell them that they are not alone," said Allen, who still felt utterly alone in all of this chaos. "The solution to finding answers is not violence, and I believe everyone can agree that we have more than enough of that. The solution is knowledge, and if we could encourage more people to start thinking for themselves, change will come in its own way, because I believe...I _know_ that right now, more than anything, mankind and this world needs a change for the better."

"Another favor I ask of you is to make indifference and apathy forsaken enemies," Allen added, and for a moment, all the lives he took with his own hands flashed by his eyes, and their faces reflected in his eyes, so that everyone in the pub could see...and feel, and think. "Indifference helps the tormentor, not the tormented. Apathy encourages the criminal, not the victim. Neutrality defends the guilty, not the innocent. With everyone here being my witness, I swear today that I will never be silent again in the face of injustice, and be still in the presence of immorality. I will speak, and I will move. I just hope that everyone will one day do the same."

_(A/N: the above paragraph was referenced from E. Wiesel's speech. I strongly recommend that you read his works.)_

No one uttered a single word, no one clapped their hands in applause, or threw a punch in anger. Allen could see that there were people left in uncertainty, while others were still infuriated with him and his immoral acts, but one thing Allen saw in all of them was the vivid light of pondering dwelling in their eyes. They suddenly appeared to be more awake, more alive, and whether the light be clouded by the veil of anger or mistrust, the light was still there nonetheless.

Allen was wrong. He was not too insignificant to change the world, or too powerless to stir up society. With just a few words, Allen caused a chain reaction, and without a doubt, these people would think. Perhaps not right away, but one day, someday, they would begin to see things in a new light, and ask questions. Then, these people would talk, encourage others, and the number of questioners would multiply over and over.

And this possible revolution of thinkers and questioners, the genocide of apathy and indifference was done by one man's words.

Allen did not know what was going to happen next, but when these men would return home they would revert to their old ways of life, but with a new mind. They would see. Think. Wonder. Ask. Look. Discover. Believe. Speak. Act.

They would bring change.

Did Allen possibly strike the first domino to another uprising of rebels?

Perhaps.

Or did Allen bring upon change in a sense that was different from the past?

More than likely.

Without another word, Allen fished a few dollars out of his pocket, set them on the counter behind him, and left the pub without any word of good-bye, or even looking back. He didn't need to do any of this, because his job here was done. Allen walked down the streets like any ordinary man, and no one spared him a glance as they brushed by, but no one knew what Allen did on this day that changed the course of history forever; even Allen himself did not.

Allen Walker only spoke the truth, and that was more than enough to change the world.

-x-

Allen did not return to headquarters until a little past noon, and his original plan was to just go to sleep, because he was a suspended soldier, therefore he had nothing to do, but instead, Allen decided to change his plans while he was returning from the pub, and headed over for the infirmary district a few blocks from his flat. The infirmary was one of the largest branches in the headquarters, considering how hundreds of soldiers were wounded each week.

With his hands shoved into his empty pockets, Allen entered building S-34 where the long-term patients were held. Allen gave the nurse at the reception desk a small greeting before he asked permission to visit a patient. Once permission was granted, Allen made his way to room #312 without any guidance, since he visited this particular patient more than a hundred times for the past few years. Treading across the teal and white tiles, his heels clacked against the floor in rhythm, and echoed in the empty corridor. The eerie clouds of death and dread hung in the cold atmosphere like ghosts, and tendrils of something icy wrapped around Allen's heart, as if threatening to tear the vital organ from his ribcage any second.

But Allen couldn't die yet. Not when he realized what he truly needed to do, and took an oath earlier today.

What about Allen's self-destruction? The bulimia? The alcoholism? Allen...didn't even want to stop either addictions, because he couldn't. He just. could. not.

What about the 14th? Would Allen ever begin to erode? What then?

"I don't know..." Allen whispered to himself, conflicting emotions flickering in his eyes. "Mana, Master, Timcanpy, Krory, Miranda, Maes, Alicia..." Allen murmured, naming only a few of the precious people that were now dead, "...help me, please."

Swallowing hard and pushing away these agonizing thoughts to the back of his head, Allen came to a stop before room #312. After a small breath to pick up the small chipped away pieces of his mask, Allen opened the door, and entered.

There was only one patient within, and she laid on the single bed set inside of the room. Quietly, Allen closed the door behind him, and began to approach the patient as softly as possible, though waking the patient up would be a day to rejoice. The beeping of the heart monitor, and hisses of the respiration machines were like clocks ticking towards the possibly imminent death. The only color in the room was the vase of flowers set on one of the small tables, and without a doubt it was Komui who brought the iridescent beauties, since he came here every day, and sometimes more than once.

Hooked up to tubes and wires was a young girl, now a young woman, with complexion that once used to be fair, but now pale white like death's ghost due to the lack of sunlight. Her dark hair that grew over the years, now nearly past her waist. If she were to awake, would she be delighted to know that she could once again tie her hair up like she once did long ago? Or would she be horrified and devastated to know that three years of her life was wasted?

Allen set a chair besides the bed, and sat down. He pulled the glove off of his left hand, and reached out to hold the young woman's hand that felt so small and cold within his deep rogue fingers.

"Hey, Lenalee," Allen greeted with a strained smile. "It's me, Allen. I just wanted to...drop by, you know?..."

Allen's voice trailed off with a tremble to his words, and the smile faltered and faded away. Only did Allen ever take off the mask, and speak with his true voice when around Lenalee.

"Lenalee, I don't know what to do anymore," Allen confessed breathlessly, and closed his eyes tightly as tears were threatening to surface. The sense of despair was too great. "I don't even know what I'm fighting for anymore. Why did all of our comrades have to die for this? Why did you have to fall under a coma, and break everyone's heart?"

Allen suddenly gave a bitter laugh that shook his empty insides (which were warning him that he was going to binge soon).

"I killed a mother and three children, Lenalee," Allen stated in a barely audible voice that shook terribly. "I deserve to die, but why am I still alive?"

With his free hand, Allen covered his face as he hung his head.

"I was just a kid back then, I'm just a man now, and I've always only been a human being. I was never a hero or a savior, but..." Allen's voice choked as his hand fell from his face, and he looked off into the distance with glistening eyes that held the light of determination. "I made an oath today, Lenalee. I swore never to be indifferent to all of the wrong that goes on in the world today, and I even spoke the truth to a few people. I saw it in their eyes, Lenalee. It was a light...a light as if...as if they were really alive for the first time in their life. Maybe all our lives, we've been walking around half-asleep, half-dead, and not doing what we really need to do. Is that what I need to do? Speak the truth, and never be indifferent again?" Allen let out a small sigh of weariness. "I feel like...I can breathe a bit now, but what about feeling? Is it okay for someone like me to feel again? Is it salvation to be not be hated by anyone? Redemption to punish yourself?"

Allen sniffled, and closed his eyes for a brief moment as he tried to steady himself.

"Lavi's back," Allen said, changing the subject, but touching on a topic that was one of his worse and most raw wounds. "He just thought we were silly kids, and I even read something that said he doesn't love me anymore. I actually...felt something. It was hurt. Betrayal. Disbelief. Regret." Allen drew in a shaky breath as a sob threatened to break out. "I...I don't want to feel ever again, because I'm so...so afraid of being hurt, Lenalee, but I know that I have to learn how to feel not for myself, but for this world. If I want to ease people's suffering, I have to endure their suffering, so I'm going to feel again..."

Allen inhaled deeply, and wiped his damp eyes with the back of his hand before smiling at his old friend who was just sleeping...sleeping for a very long time.

"When you wake up, I promise, it'll be a better place than today," Allen swore with all his heart. "I promise."

Though Lenalee did not give any response throughout the single monologue, Allen felt somewhat reassured. He gave Lenalee's hand a small squeeze before withdrawing from the cold grasp, and rose from the chair. After letting his eyes linger over his friend for a moment longer, and giving a prayer to God for Lenalee to wake up for Komui's sake at the least, Allen turned around, and began walking towards the door.

When Allen reached the door, it swung open, and in strode Lavi. The Bookman and Allen both froze in their places as they stared at the other's tear stained faces. Allen's face was faint scarlet with unshed tears, thus reflecting Lavi's face. This had to be the first time Allen ever saw Lavi cry. Could Bookman even cry?

Before Allen could even utter one word, he felt a sharp burning sensation combust within his stomach. Eyes going wide, Allen turned swiftly to where the bathroom within Lenalee's hospital room was, ripped the door open, and lunged for the toilet just in time when he involuntarily binged. Never once had Allen ever missed his own binge-schedule, but he must have forgotten today. Startled and taken off guard by his own disgusting practice, Allen did not have time to prepare himself for the initial burn of the stomach acid. The long awaited results of last night's hangover finally hurled themselves into the porcelain bowl as Allen tightly gripped the edges of the toilet seat. His frame trembled terribly each time he vomited, and by now he was throwing up blood.

_(Too much blood.)_

Allen screamed out in sheer pain as tears cascaded down his anguish stricken face.

Why did it hurt?  
Why did everything hurt?

Binging never once hurt before...not in the way where fire was spreading across every inch of Allen's body like a savage wild fire, and disabling him from breathing.

Was...was he going to die?

No...no, Allen was _eroding._

_"I don't want to disappear!"_ Allen sobbed a final plea to the God he hated so much in between ragged breaths, and more binging that burned his throat. He let out a howl of pain, and was now nearly blinded by it to the point where he was hysterical and wild. _"I don't want to disappear! I don't want to disappear!"_

The man finally ceased to throw up blood, or anything for that matter, but the pain was now excruciating and exacerbated with each breath. His insides were churning, his ribs her jabbing into his inner organs, his blood was on fire, and his flesh was once again covered by the filthy squirming maggots. The filth...God, the filth! Allen pulled his hands away from the edges of the toilet seat, and ran them down his own arms to where the nails tore through the cloth, and left behind angry marks on his broken skin. The lukewarm sensation of blood trickling down his arms tricked Allen's unstable mind into thinking that the maggots were leaving behind_ (disgusting! filthy! repulsive!)_ residue on his arms as they crawled up and down his body.

_"I don't want to disappear-!"_

"You're right here," a voice said as two strong arms wrapped around Allen's shaking frame, and hands grasped Allen's wrists, so that his fingers would not dig any deeper into his skin. "You're right here. Breathing. Living. You're right here."

Allen's eyes were wide and his face was blank as he knelt down still and silent, apart from his erratic breathing. Slowly, he began to feel the warmth from the embrace dominate over the maggots until they vanished entirely. The excruciating pain was now subdued into a warm, but tolerable burning in the pit of his guts. Once calmed down, Allen drew in a shaky breath before crying softly.

How much of a fool he was to believe that he was strong when he was the most vulnerable and weak person he knew in his life.

Allen continued to cry until he felt fingers dry the tears. The sudden contact of touch reeled Allen's rationality back to him, and he came to realize that it was Lavi holding him, caressing him, and touching him. More upon instinct than processed thinking, Allen shoved Lavi as far away from him as possible. Suddenly, there was a look in Allen's eyes as if he could kill Lavi right there and then as he bared his teeth, and glared daggers at the Bookman. Lavi simply sat there with a face Allen could not fathom, but Allen didn't care to read Lavi's emotions or thoughts; he hated himself for knowing the fact that he was mollified by Lavi of all people.

Feeling humiliated and ashamed, Allen pushed onto his feet with struggle, flushed the toilet, and quickly cleaned himself up. After drying himself, Allen turned to leave the bathroom, and didn't even cast a glance at Lavi who remained on the floor. Allen paused for a moment under the opened doorway as he kept his eyes straight ahead.

"Don't ever touch me again."

Leaving his last words hanging in the cold and heavy air, Allen exited Lenalee's hospital room. Never once did he even second think about his own reflection in the bathroom as he briskly strode down the hall.

_(The 14th was grinning.)_

--

**Blinded Ryter:** First of all, I would like to thank all of my reviewers and readers. I appreciate the feedback and attention greatly, and truly do mean it (:

I wanted to write about what goes on apart from the war in Allen's life, because he's not just a soldier, but a human being as well. Therefore, Allen suffers from other afflictions apart from the war, and if you think about it, don't you think Allen would be deranged to some extent from all the pressure and stress from the war?

As for the two conversations with no speakers, it's meant to be vague and ambiguous.

I also wanted to mention that I am not a person that feverently hates the government, soldiers, etc., and in no way encouraging anyone to go anti-anything. I only encourage the riddance of indifference and apathy, and for people to start thinking for themselves.


	6. Le Conteur

**The Last Stand**  
_By Blinded Ryter_

VI - le conteur  
_("the storyteller")_

**"An oration to drunk men in one of the filthiest pubs in town? Should I applaud Him this time?**

**"My first oration was to a bunch of men in business suits over the Net. Was that any better?"**

**"At least men with briefcases can take more than men with guns. In other words, they can _do_ something, but the drunks?"**

**"They are still commoners, and we need Him to become the bridge, the vessel. He is our liaison from the rich to the poor, the soldiers to the citizens, and us to the Revenants. And anyways, He has a way with words. You have to give Him props for that."**

**"...touche. Speaking of words, a new alias called Choix has become quite popular on the Nets, and is targeting the citizens, especially the youth. There are already large groups supporting Choix, and the arguments he or she has proposed. The people are eager for Choix to engage in a debate with either Demosthenes or Locke-...why are you laughing?"**

**"Oh, because that child still has that wicked streak of hers."**

-x-

"If you keep this up you will be decommissioned."

A dry smile hinted with bitterness graced Allen's lips subtly as he tied his hair back neatly. He kept his gaze upon the mirror built on the closet door, but from the corner of his eye he could see Lavi leaning against the opened doorway with his arms folded across his chest. This was the first time the two were conversing with each other ever since the hospital incident, which occurred days ago. Allen could only muse to himself how typical it was for Lavi to break the interminable silence between the two with work. It was awfully predictable for a Bookman.

"That won't happen," Allen simply replied as he tapped on the 14th's forehead on the reflection, still wondering whether or not the shadow would ever do something else besides just standing there. "The Black Order wouldn't even let me resign if I wanted to." Allen paused as he turned his eyes to Lavi, and held a limp hand up in the air. "Can't you see the strings?"

Lavi's brows knitted together, and his lips pressed into a thin and firm line. Was that an austere expression, or one of concern?

"Walker," Lavi addressed Allen by his last name now, a sign of formality and also increasing the rift between them, "you've been neglecting your duties as a soldier for nearly six days."

Allen laughed without mirth.

"Perhaps they will throw me into the incinerator soon enough," Allen replied, then hummed softly.

The Bookman fell silent for a moment as he heaved a heavy sigh. Lavi parted his lips to speak, but was cut short by Allen's DIG, an advanced communicator built for soldiers, began to vibrate raucously upon the night stand. Allen padded over to pick up the sleek black device, and wasn't surprised to see that Kanda was the one calling. Whether it be Kanda calling Allen to berate the soldier for his insubordinate behavior, or to compromise (in other words, make up) after their recent fall out at Maron, Allen was going to reject this call as well. Smiling ruefully, Allen pressed the button to silence the call.

_'I'm sorry,'_ Allen apologized inside of his head as he set the device back on the night stand. _'I don't think you would understand.'_

Allen turned his back to the DIG, to Kanda, to his duties, to everything, and approached the window. Parting the gaudy curtains to the side, he removed the large frame holding the largest glass pane, and set it aside. Then, he detached the screen from the window, and began to climb outside until his feet were on the ledge of the outer wall. It was better to leave the building through the window, and down into the deserted restricted area where the cable units were kept. This way, Allen would avoid anyone, most likely Kanda, that would be searching for him.

The wind brushed against his cheeks, and wisped through locks of his hair. Allen closed his eyes for a brief moment. He knew that it was the wind of change, and he could no longer ignore it. There needed to be one person that would bring on a revolution, not of government or economics, but of hearts.

And if Allen wanted to bring on change, he would become the change. He carried many names now. Allen Walker, Abbadon, the Storyteller, and-

_"Moyashi!"_

Instead of feeling a heated rise surface within him, Allen felt a vague pang of travail within whatever remained of his heart. A sense of nostalgia washed over him, and the sorrow clouding over his eyes was clearly shown when Allen looked over his shoulder at Lavi. The Bookman had taken a step forward, even called Allen by the old nickname, but was not willing to hold Allen back. If no one was going to hold Allen, then Allen was going to move forward. He had to.

Allen looked over his shoulder, and gave a sad smile, because sad smiles were the only ones defeated heroes could offer.

"My name is Allen."

And with that, the exorcist jumped. Lavi rushed forward, and saw Allen land on the ground gracefully with the poise of a feline, then vanish into the alleys in the same manner of the dark phantom he was years ago. What was he going to do? He wasn't an exorcist anymore; he was just a man. What could one single man possibly do?

The Bookman swore under his breath, and gritted his teeth as frustration rose within him for feeling so helpless. Lavi hung his head, and clenched his fists.

"What do I have to do for you to hear me out, Allen?"

-x-

People lived their lives half-asleep, half-awake, and both times, they were never truly happy. Always discontent, always unsatisfied. People could attempt to satisfy themselves, attempt to lie to themselves, that they were content with egoistical things such as having a successful job, a nice car, the latest cell phone model, and the such, but from what Allen observed when he walked with people among the streets, he could clearly see the unhappiness upon their dead faces. Allen could only marvel morbidly how in such a large city full of thousands of people, they were still walking alone with only their shadow as their guide. They were like programmed machines, dead carbon copies wandering around in this surreal reality. Perhaps they knew their purpose in life, perhaps they knew which road they were walking, but nonetheless, they were all turning around, and walking in the wrong direction.

It was only inevitable when society blinded the people to where they lived in blissful ignorance, and when your peers would silence them. These people were alive, but they were not living. Talking, but not speaking. Hearing, but not listening.

But Allen knew everyone still had a voice, a story, and he decided to be the one to seek these tales out. It was an unusual task, but one Allen knew was his duty as a human being Whether it be at the coffee shop, the park, or standing on the corner of the street, Allen could find stories. More than half of the people he approached refused only, because they recognized Allen as a threat in their minds, and because they were afraid to reflect upon their own lives, and once again face the things they ran away from long ago.

There were a handful that obliged. Hesitant and slow at first, towards the middle they were reduced to tears of happiness, or sobs of despair. Allen laughed with them, cried with them, and relived each memory the people told.

Allen's heart ached when he listened to a successful business man speak about how he was failing to be a good father, or heard a mother speak about her first-born lost to pneumonia. Allen allowed the middle school student to lean against him when the child grieved for his physically abused best-friend, and confessed that he felt utterly helpless. Allen held onto an elderly woman's hand who claimed that she lived too long, because everyone was now dead. He heard out a college student rant with frustration about the injustice and indifference in the world, and because he cared so much about strangers' lives being taken each day by a bullet, the student was nearly brought to tears.

There were many that admitted how alone they felt in this world, and it was then that Allen told the person that he loved them. No one believe the man at first, but Allen claimed that he could love a stranger, just because.

No one knew what to say to such a thing.  
They could only cry.

Allen was saving lives and strengthening hearts with just a matter of words, and the simple task of listening. He would suffer the consequence of neglecting his orders at a soldier, but right now, there were people that needed him not to be a soldier, a hero, or a savior, but simply a friend.

And so, that was how the Storyteller came to be.

Rumors about the Storyteller began to travel not only within the city, but across the state, then the nation. Anyone that wanted to make a difference in the world, and speak the truth took on the Storyteller's duty. Students in Speech class, professors at lectures, the employees at work...

The people were regaining their voice.

And all the while, Allen Walker was unaware of what the change he was bringing upon the world. He was too humble of a man to ever acknowledge such an achievement, and this made the people that truly knew him love him even more.

Allen Walker was no longer a stranger; he was their hero again.

-x-

The vast sky stretching above today was a light shade of grey, and just as Allen predicted when he woke up this morning, it began to rain. The rain was light and refreshing, but was enough to drench anyone with passing time. Fortunately, Allen brought an umbrella with him, and was using it for a few minutes until he saw a man covered in rags huddled in a dark and desolate alley to the side. Dozens and dozens of people were walking to and for across the cobblestone sidewalk, but no one was bothering to even spare the poor man a glance.

Allen could see the indifference etched across their apathetic faces, and felt a small heat of anger at their ignorance. Would it hurt to just drop in a few dollars for someone that was not as fortunate as themselves?

Allen quickly brushed the heated emotion away as he slipped into the alley with a smile for greeting.

"Good morning," Allen chimed as he sat besides the poor man, and held the umbrella over both of them.

The man stared at Allen for a moment in bewilderment, and blinked a few times as he was rendered speechless. Even some of the by passers who saw the act was slightly puzzled and taken aback by this unusual encounter between an average man and a poor man, but soon the citizens' faced contorted with disgust and hatred when they recognized Allen as Abaddon. A few even spat a few vilifying names, but Allen simply smiled at them in reply.

"A passive young man, aren't you?" the poor man queried at the observation with a small chuckle.

"I guess you could say there's been too much violence in my life," Allen explained as he brushed his bangs back.

The poor man nodded in understanding, and gave a small smile.

"I would agree," said the poor man. "I was once a member of the Black Order as well." The poor man paused for a moment as he let his gaze drift to elsewhere. "You are Allen Walker, correct? The Storyteller, I presume?"

"Yes, sir," Allen answered with a nod.

"I heard that you've been wandering this city, listening to stories, hearing people out..." the poor man's voice trailed off with a hint of some sorrow. "Will you listen to mine?"

Allen smiled.

"Of course."

The man smiled softly, and closed his eyes for a brief moment before opening them again as the cloud of nostalgia veiled over his hues.

"I was born alone..." the man began in a quiet, but clear voice, "but I didn't live alone forever..."

Seconds, minutes, hours, moments past until the story drew to an end, and Allen was still attempting to stifle his sobs in vain. The man besides him shed no tears, but the regret was clear, and yet there was peace upon his face as well. Allen gripped onto the handle of the umbrella tightly as he covered his face with his free hand, the words still clearly echoing inside of his head.

The man sitting besides Allen had so much, but paid a heavy price to lose it all for the sake of his family. His only reward was the grudges and hatred from his sons, and the grieving regret for not being with his wife when she passed on. And even now, when he only had fifty-six cents in the tin can set besides him on the ground, the man would always give whatever he could earn and gain to the homeless elderly woman down the road, or the orphan children in the abandoned theater.

How could someone that had nothing give away everything? Or more importantly, how could people that had something, give away nothing?

Allen could not bid the tears to cease. He could feel the man's anguish, grief, frustration, misery, and hurt channel through his heart, as if Allen's being was some sort of gateway or liaison to closure. By speaking to Allen, and fueling all the stories, regrets, joys, and memories through the young man, people could find peace in themselves, but Allen was the one who had to pay the price, but it was only a small one of weeping and aching. Allen would gladly have done so, if he could ease other people's suffering.

"You remind me of my eldest son, Allen," the poor man commented as he closed his eyes. "You weren't quite hard headed like him, but he had a sense of empathy and a kindred heart that was beyond measures. He was the one that cried for others as well." The man reached over to pat Allen's head. "You are a good child."

"You..." Allen paused as he tried to calm himself down. "You never told me...your name..."

"Are you saying that you will remember me?"

Allen could only nod; his throat was choked.

"My name is Hohenhiem," said the man, then smiled. "If you are ever to meet my sons someday, let them know that I will always love them."

Allen drew in a shaking breath.

"Your sons...what are their names?"

A look of pride and fondness appeared on the poor man's face, as if just the mentioning of his children brought affection to his heart.

"Their names are Edwa-"

_"Moyashi!"_

The sharp and piercing call cut through the air, and shook Allen to the core. He looked up to see Kanda standing at the other end of the alley, out of breath, soaked to the bone, and fericous yet...relieved. Though the outrage stricken across Kanda's face was more dominating, Allen was not alarmed, but merely at a state of calm.

Allen gave Kanda a small smile, then turned his attention to the poor man. He pulled out all the cash in his pocket, a sum of nearly a hundred dollars, and handed it to Hohenhiem, along with the umbrella, then pushed onto his feet.

"My, boy, I could not accept this-" the man protested as he received the umbrella.

"Please, sir. Please accept it as if it was a gift from a friend," Allen replied.

"Allen..." Hohenhiem trailed off in disbelief.

"It seems like I must go," Allen said as he wiped his damp face, and smiled radiantly. "Thank-you for your time."

"No, my dear boy, thank-you," Hohenhiem replied. "You are not what the people call you, but a savior after all."

Allen grinned.

"I'm just a man," he said, then turned to walk towards Kanda, beckoning him out of the alley, and to walk in one direction.

Allen gave Kanda a smile, while Kanda merely glared back. The two soldiers walked in silence, and the entire time, Allen could feel Kanda's eye drilling a hole through him. Allen paid no mind, but only gave his attention to the sky that was now beginning to clear up. Drawing in a deep breath, Allen finally met Kanda's eyes.

"I'm sorry-"

"_Damn straight_, you better be!" Kanda barked as they came to a halt near the end of the street. Rage flickered furiously within the hardened blue hues, and droplets of water flew from the tips of his drenched hair. "You haven't been answering my calls for days!"

Allen waited as if expecting Kanda to list half a dozen more crimes, but he only left it at one. Allen blinked, then raised his eyebrows.

"That's...it?" asked Allen slowly. "You're not going to berate me for not performing my duties, for not being the ideal soldier-"

_"Are you a fucking idiot?!"_Kanda nearly screamed, and was clenching his fists to resist the urge of hitting Allen. "_You are a brother first, then a soldier second!_ Why the Hell do you think I'm always yelling at you on the battlefield? Why do you think I'm always trying to hit some sense into your goddamn thick head? Do you think I go around threatening to kill you for no reason?"

Kanda fell silent and was left in heaving asps. Allen continued to stare blankly for a moment before answering quietly. Allen always had a deep iniutiative sense, but after walking among the commoners, and listening to their stories, Allen learned how to understand people a bit better, and right now, Allen understood Kanda.

"Because...you care," Allen said in an almost whisper as shame and guilt washed over him. "You...didn't want to lose me."

Allen kept his eyes downcast for a while longer, and was startled when he looked up. He expected Kanda to be glaring off in another direction, but Kanda kept his gaze steady upon Allen. The samurai truly meant his words, and was even willing to swallow his pride to confess such a thing. Allen recalled how Kanda struggled to fight back the tears when the doctor declared that Lenalee was in a critical coma. Lenalee, who was like a sister to all of them...and Allen, was the only brother Kanda had.

"After all of the stories I have heard," Allen began to say with a soft smile, "I came to realize that the only reason you should live is not for fame, wealth, or power...but for people, and to love and be loved. I think I understand that better than ever now."

_('I love you.')_

"Che," Kanda muttered, finally diverting his gaze elsewhere. "Since when were you the one for cliche shit?"

_('I love you, too.')_

Allen laughed good-naturedly. It was unsaid, but they both knew that the three-worded phrase was exchanged between them in their own odd way.

"You should be nicer, or else I could twist my stories about you," Allen warned teasingly with a grin.

"Stori...what?!" Kanda exclaimed, appearing piqued. "Don't tell me that you've been writing those stupid things called fanfics-"

"No, no, no. True stories, _our _stories," Allen explained, his eyes sparking with a lively light. "The kids love it. They call you a hero."

Kanda fell silent, then let out another, "Che," before turning around, and beginning to walk. As Allen followed, he could see the faint tints of scarlet on Kanda's face.

"Where to?" Alllen piped up.

"A mission," Kanda answered in a neutral tone.

"No," Allen said sternly, his mood swiftly taking on a serious swing.

"You have to, Allen," Kanda said, and with the mentioning of Allen's real name, Allen blinked in surprise and could sense something wicked coming along the way. Kanda kept his eyes straight ahead, but his face was grave, and...troubled.

But Allen wasn't going to go on the battlefield again. Not after walking among the citizens, and learning what it means to be human again. He didn't want to kill...he never did.

"I'm not going to-" Allen began to protest.

_"You don't understand," _Kanda cut in quickly, then let out a frustrated sigh as he ran one hand through his bangs. "You are the only one still carrying the Innocence inside of you," Kanda began to explain in a low voice as a murderous glint appeared in his anguished eyes. "If you don't do as the Black Order says, they won't think of you as a soldier, but as an object. In other words, they're going to lock you up, and Gods knows what they will do to you. I nor anyone else has the power to stop that from happening if you rebel." Kanda paused, then added with regret, "I'm sorry, Allen. I tried."

The initial shock was not was strong as when Allen discovered that the 14th's memories were implanted within him, but he was still shaken by the revelation. The man felt infuriated at how the Black Order still saw him as a weapon, a tool, and not a human being, but he also felt angry at himself for having put Kanda in a terrible position. Kanda was a General and a friend, a brother. He was torn between duty and blood. What was he to do?

"It's okay," Allen simply said with a content smile as he patted Kanda's shoulder, then added, "Thanks, Kanda."

Kanda kept his eyes straight ahead, and he didn't appear to be any happier.

"I couldn't do anything-"

"It's okay," Allen repeated, his smile unfaltering. "I'll go to the mission."

Kanda stared at Allen for a moment, vaguely bewildered by the tranquil nature of Allen's, and also suspicious about the man's tone. It was not one of subordination, but of...determination. Kanda let out a soft "che", but smiled slightly to himself at the same time.

"Alright, Moyashi-"

"It's ALLEN!" the younger man exclaimed as the two reverted to their usual antics. "ALLEN WALKER! _A-L-L-E-N-!"_

"SHUT THE_ FUCK UP!" _Kanda screamed back _"YOU'RE GOING TO WAKE UP THE ENTIRE FUCKING CITY, MOYASHI!"_

_"MY NAME IS-!"_

-x-

_"I believe that this is the same Zero from a few years back, but I cannot trace the alias to its source. The alias is contradicting everything Choix wrote so far."_

_"He's pulling us into another one of his games. Taunting us, in a way."_

_"What shall we do?"_

_"You write the best out of all of us. I trust you on that, and know that you'll know what's best to do. Sometimes, you know our kin's mind better than me."_

_"I'm just the metal in between, dear brother...and, there's something else. Several new soldiers have been admitted into the Black Order, which is nothing out of the ordinary, but there's one particular soldier that caught Anakin's eye when he was skimming the database like usual."_

_"What was so strange?"_

_"His name is Lelouch Lamperouge..."_

_"The United Kingdom Prime Minister's exiled first son..."_

_"Well, we're one of the few people that would assume this Lelouch being Lelouch vi United Kingdom, and we're even one of the fewer people that have acess to confirm such suspicison, but yes, you're correct. Thing is, it seems as if arrangements were made for Lelouch to be connected with General Yuu's first lieutenant, Suzaku Kururugi, and Anakin found a trace of the two having been invovled in a crime fiasco a few years back."_

_"The Black Order would not have allowed someone with such background into the military."_

_"Actually, Lamperouge should have been arrested. The same goes for Kururugi."_

_"We'll let the situation play out for now, but tell the units there to tighten the watch. Also, keep your eyes on the marked soldiers."_

_"...are you inferring that Lamperouge is part of the Alpha?"_

_"Perhaps. But either way, it's not Kururugi they want."_

_"Then Allen Walker?"_

_"No. They're after the grey chess piece."_

-x-

Footsteps resonated in the distance, and rattled the metallic walls of the cargo crates stacked up on top of each other on the Area-51 Trade Dock. Bullets ricocheted off the rusted surfaces, distorted yells pierced the silence, and the dull thuds of bodies falling to the ground went in rhythm with Allen's racing heartbeat. Though the soldier had a rifle in his hand, he had yet to pull the trigger once. If not anything, he was purposely avoiding everyone: the raiders, so he wouldn't have to shoot them, and the soldiers, so they wouldn't question what the Hell he was doing. Allen was wandering around in the labryinth of delirium and chaos, and was torn between conflict. How could he possibly gun down a common man when he was now becoming the common people's hope?

Their mission today was to arrest all of the raiders that were attempting to steal goods from the docks, but it wasn't as if they were trying to steal weapons of mass destruction, but food. Water. Supplies. Such things were so scarce for those who lived in the ruins, such as what Maron is today. Ruins that Allen created with his own hands, and a city that he burned down by the faltering of his morals.

_('You were supposed to be a hero!')_

The children were right, but Allen was nothing more than the Messiah caught in the manipulating strings of the Black Order, and even to this very moment, Allen didn't know how to break free.

"You appear to be quite lost. A bit like Alice, but this is no Wonderland; this is reality."

The calm note heard in the low voice was eerie and out of place in the current state of calamity. The soft billowing of a cape was heard behind Allen, followed by the quiet tap of heels coming to a landing on the ground. Allen turned around and instantly fell into an offense position with his weapon raised. The piercing light did not waver once in his hardened and narrowed blue eyes as he stared at...at this peculiar figure.

A tall figure that was adorned in clothes of royal colours; deep purple, midnight black, wine scarlet, and swuave white. His body covered by a sleek cape lined with brilliant gold fit for a King. His face was concealed by a helmet that served as a mask with a glass shield in the front, but it was not transparent as to where Allen could see through the pane.

Allen's eyes narrowed even more. Never once in his years as a soldier had he come across such a person dressed in a strange manner. What could possibly be the meaning of this?

"Who are you?" asked Allen.

"A miscreant of justice, my friend," the dark phantom answered, then gave a gracious bow before standing up straight. "Hm. It's quite interesting how you have the eyes of a killer after the war. Tell me, how many human lives did you take?"

Guilt flitted across Allen's face for a second before his demeanor darkened sharply. It was obvious that the masked figure hit a sensitive spot.

"You cannot answer," said the miscreant with a soft chuckle as he took a step forward, the tail of his cape floating in the air softly behind him. "What a child you are."

_"Shut up!"_ Allen barked, his brows knitting into a glare. "Who are you? Are you helping the raiders? If so, I'll gun you down-"

Allen's voice was cut off and his breath hitched sharply when his body was suddenly shoved back as the masked figure used his body to push Allen backwards. The wind hissed by Allen's ears before his back slammed against one of the cargo crates. Allen let out a hiss of pain as pain flared across his back, and the terrible trembling noise of the metallic surface made his ears bleed. Nonetheless, his skills kicked in instantly, and the soldier made a recovery within a blink of an eye.

Just when Allen was about to counter attack, he raised his head, and froze when he saw a vivid crimson eye through the glass. The rest of the face was covered by shadows, but that one eye was a mixture of violet and vermilion, and there was a strange insignia of what appeared to be like a cross hovering over the pupil.

Allen's blood ran cold, and the color drained from his face. He was in utter disbelief, but when the fingers on his right arm suddenly twitched abnormally, and the scar marring his face tingled with subdued heat, Allen knew it was true.

_"Innocence..."_ Allen breathed in a barely audible tone.

The miscreant smiled behind his mask, and Allen could tell it was like that of a Chesire cat.

"Perhaps, perhaps not," said the man in a sing-son voice as he spoke in convoluted riddles.

"It's...impossible," Allen denied as he slowly regained his composure, and shook his head. "Innocence disappeared years ago, and if there was any, the I-Radar would have tracked it!"

Allen knew that he must have been imagining things. If there was Innocence around, the I-Radar, a device created by the Black Order designed to pick up signals of Innocence, would have pinpointed any users of Innocence. Such a thing would not have gone left unsaid if the I-Radar found something...right?

The Black Order wouldn't keep secrets-...

Allen's mood turned foul instantly as he caught himself being utterly foolish again. Of course, the Black Order would lie...especially to Allen, their walking weapon.

"Tell me, Allen Walker, do you know where innocence, just simple innocence, comes from?" the phantom queried as he tilted his head.

"The Heart-"

"The hearts of children," the man answered before clicking his tongue. "More than ninety-nine percent of the human population go through their lives losing childhood innocence at one point or another, but only those children who never had a childhood, who never had childhood innocence to begin with, can tap into it."

Allen's eyes knitted together to sharpen his glare and confusion.

"There was a limited number of Innocence users during the Akuma war-"

"Ah, but children are quite brilliant, especially the ones with Innocence. They wouldn't be foolish enough to come out in the open, would they? And they were even smarter to hide it from you," said the masked figure, poking Allen's chest with his free hand.

"The Innocence should have disappeared..." Allen said weakly, and he was beginning to wonder why he couldn't accept the truth. Perhaps it was because he was afraid to stop believing the lies, the lies he once believed were the truth.

"There's _thousands _of children out there," the phantom stated with a wave of his hand. "Think about what all those countries, let's say...hmm, America, Iraq, North Korea, and so on, would do if they discovered Innocence. It would be the next big thing since nuclear warfare, right?"

Sheer horror was stricken across Allen's face. If the world powers decided to use Innocence for military reasons...God, it would be the Armageddon.

"Now, just imagine, if the I-Radar, if the _Black Order_, were to pick up signs of Innocence..."

Allen's heart ceased to beat.

"The children would be taken away."

"No. Killed," the man corrected. "And it has happened before. Many, many times."

Allen's head snapped up in shocking anger.

_"What?!"_ he nearly screamed in sheer outrage. "When did that ever happen?"

"Everyday," the man answered in a passive voice. "The Black Order is just very good at lying. Lying to you. To everyone. To the world."

"But there's no reason to murder the children just, because they somehow have Innocence!" Allen protested in outrage as his voice began to crack.

"There's every reason," the phantom countered with another clicking of the tongue. "If the world realized that Innocence still existed, they would believe that the Akuma were back. What would happen then? Things would lose control, terrorists would use the threats of unleashing Akuma, the people would live in fear and lose faith in the Black Order. The Black Order would lose control. Plus, what if the children were to use Innocence? After all, children can see the truth clearer than anyone else, so surely they would go after the Black Order. In children's eyes, the Black Order is like the bad guy in their superhero comics, and trust me, those kids won't stand around idly forever." The man paused as he laughed quietly. "The Black Order is a preemptive species. They strike before anything else strikes first, and they happen to strike children."

Allen's eyes were on the ground as his eyes flickered in conflict. Was this man speaking the truth? Had children been being killed everyday behind closed doors?

"Wait..." Allen spoke up. "Then...why do I still have Innocence? I am not a child anymore."

"Because Allen Walker, your heart has yet to die. When children grow up into adults, their hearts die when they become caught up in materialism, indifference, and apathy, but you..." the phantom's voice grew softer, "you are still a child."

Allen clenched his fist. It was merely a statement, but it also felt like an insult.

"Then why is the Black Order keeping me alive?" he growled.

"It wouldn't be fun if all the answers were given, right? You should find out on your own."

"This isn't a game, damnit!" Allen exclaimed. "Innocent children are dying-"

"So, what are you going to do? Are you going to continue dwelling in confusion when you could make a difference?"

Before Allen could respond, the masked figure released the soldier, and took a few steps back in a manner that implied that he was about to take his leave. Allen stepped forward abruptly.

"Wait!" Allen shouted. "What's your name?"

The masked figure paused as he wrapped his cape around his slender figure. Allen flinched when he saw that glint of red in the man's left eye.

"Just remember me as Zero."

Leaving his words to hang in the air, the miscreant of justice vanished into the shadows, his cape fluttering in the air. Allen stood there dumbly for a moment as he tried to compute everything Zero told him. Innocence still existed? Children were being killed? What in the world has the Black Order become? A Hitler with the facade of being Gandhi?

Allen's breath hitched as a harsh epiphany dawned upon him.

Were...were all the children he killed wielders of Innocence?

_'Are you going to continue dwelling in confusion when you could make a difference?'_

Allen would ponder on his own time later. Right now, he had a mission to do.

The soldier moved forward, and traveled by a line of alleys. He didn't stop until he reached a group of men varying in ages with backpacks slung over their shoulders, and guns in their hands. They came to a halt, and paled visibly when they recognized the scar on Allen's face. Allen felt a slight pang of sadness; was he always this feared?

"Follow me," Allen commanded as his face turned stoic. He turned and began walking. "There's a safe route you can take that will lead you into Area-48. You can cross the border, and disperse from there."

The men stared incredulously at Allen before one of them spoke up.

"He's lying! He's just going to turn us in, and shoot us!"

Allen came to a halt, and glanced over his shoulder as he gave a steady glare.

"If I was going to shoot you, I would shoot you in the face, not the back."

The men stared at Allen before exchanging uneasy glances. Seeing as how this was the best alternative, they followed Allen. But they also followed Allen, because they saw the light of honesty in his eyes; a light the common people had not seen for the longest time.

It looked as if the hero was back.

Allen was quick on his feet, and even quicker in his thoughts. He was calculating how to avoid the other soldiers, but also pick up as many raiders at the same time. After gathering at least half a dozen more men, Allen was nearing the border to a city where the men could disperse into the alleys, and easily join together later at Area-58. Just when they were about to reach the border, Allen came to an abrupt halt, and the men behind him followed suit in confusion.

In front of them were two soldiers.

The Elric brothers.

Edward and Alphonse Elric were staring at the group of men, then at Allen. Allen pressed his lips into a thin and firm line as he swore silently inside of his head before making a choice. He raised his gun, pulled back the hammer, and aimed at the brothers.

"Move," was the only thing Allen said.

Edward and Alphonse stared at Allen in disbelief, until it finally registered in their minds what the older soldier was doing. The two boys exchanged glances before smirking at each other. Edward gave a heartily laugh as the two boys moved. Allen was genuinely surprised; he thought...no, he _knew_ that they would have put up a fight.

_'Children can see the truth clearer than anyone else.'_

"Looks like the hero's back," Edward remarked with a salute before running off.

"We'll keep watch, sir," Alphonse added, then followed after his brother.

Allen was still utterly bewildered, but right now, he had no time to lose. He guided the group of men to the borders as they ran at the speed of light. More than once they were almost caught, and Allen even had to shoot bullets in a random direction to lure a near soldier away, so that the threat would disappear for the time being. By miracle, they all reached the border safely, but the ongoing mayhem could still be heard from behind them.

"Don't look back, and just run," Allen told them as he tried to catch his breath.

The men nodded before crossing the border, but as they left, they all muttered thank-yous to the soldier. One particular man stopped to pat Allen's shoulder.

"My family was literally starving to death," the man explained in a strangled voice. "Thank-you so much. You saved their lives."

Allen swallowed hard to keep his composure as he nodded and grinned.

"You're welcome."

"And..." the man began to say, then paused to clear his throat. "I was one of the men at the bar. The bar you spoke at. I...thought about what you said, and you're right. I tried telling others, they think I'm crazy, but...they still know that I'm right, and that in some way, I changed them. So, thank-you for that as well."

The man lingered there for a second longer before crossing the border. Allen blinked. Did his small talk at the bar really have such impact on men that also happend to be drunk?

A few more men, and they were all gone. The instant Allen was alone, he quickly fled from the scene, and just ran. He felt like the only thing he could do right now was run, because if Allen stopped running, reality would catch up with him. He just comitted a crime, he was a criminal, he was a rebel, he-...

Allen drew to a halt when his legs could no longer take anymore, and he was on the verge of suffocation. He bent over his one hand on his knee, and gasped heavily. He was so exhausted, so tired, but he had never felt so alive in his life. The man blinked when he felt a lukewarm and damp sensation on his face. He raised his fingers to his cheek gingerly, only to realize that he was crying. Crying for sadness? For joy?

Was this what redemption felt like?

Allen shook his head, thus answering his own question. He could be condemned for the rest of his life, and he wouldn't care. He knew what he had to do now: speak the truth, seek the truth, and act upon the truth. Villain or hero, it didn't matter. Allen was just a man, but if not anything, he realized that one single man could change the world by striking the first domino.

"...the world..." Allen sobbed quietly as he dried his face. "I'm going...to change the world..."

Perhaps...perhaps Mana and Cross would be able to rest in peace one day. Maybe Allen could make the world a better place for the children to seek out childhood again. Maybe Allen could put an end to all the lies, and give people freedom again.

Allen Walker knew what he had to do.

-x-

Allen Walker knew that he committed a crime according to the Black Order protocols: he was an acompliance the raiders. If anyone was to tell the Black Order, or simply spread the rumor, about Allen having led a group of raiders escaped, he would be given a one-way ticket to the incinerator, or...as Kanda said earlier, he would be locked up and probed with syringes on an hourly basis. Bluntly put, Allen would rather burn to death than become an experiment for the military. He would die with dignity, and not be sacrificed as an animal.

There were a handful of witnesses. The raiders, but there was a slight chance of them leaking anything out, probably because they still feared Allen to some extent, while a few were truly grateful. And then, the Elric brothers. They two, had committed a crime in some sense, but if they were to confess, Allen's crime would outweigh theirs, therefore they wouldn't receive a punishment. But Allen didn't believe that the brothers would tell him out. They were...friends.

But then, Lavi was once Allen's lover, and Lavi comitted the worst betrayal of all.

Allen sighed inwardly as he climbed out of the transportation vehicle, and entered the building. He had to believe in the brothers. If Allen told the average citizens to have faith in others when they shared stories, then Allen should listen to his own words. But would Allen ever be able to trust Lavi again? Perhaps not, seeing as how Lavi had no intention of reconciling with Allen. They weren't enemies; they were strangers.

"Tough day?" a voice asked behind Allen as someone fell in stride with him.

Allen turned his head to see Kanda's first lieutenant, Suzaku Kururugi. The young man was only twenty, and admitted himself into the Black Order at a very young age. He was the youngest lieutenant in the military, and was somewhat of a prodigy. Suzaku proved to be quite brilliant in military calculations, had an eye as sharp as Riza Hawkeye who was the #1 sniper, whereas Suzaku was #2, and the man was also excellent in military combat. He was a well-rounded soldier, and actually someone Kanda could tolerate (but still harassed nonetheless). But more importantly, he had such a lively spirit, and kindred heart, something Allen found very appealing in a person. Suzaku was the one to approach Allen, claming that Allen was his childhood hero, and in the midst of it all, a strong friendship was born.

And yet, everytime Allen saw Suzaku, he felt a sense of uneasiness. If Suzaku was to ever discover the atrocious practices Allen indulged in on a daily basis, what would the younger man say? Surely, Suzaku would be disappointed, and...and disgusted. Repulsed. Would Kanda, the Elric brothers, Ichigo, Hitsugaya, and Lenalee all react in the same way?

Or worst of all, would they be like Lavi, and simply not care?

"Just a little," Allen answered with a small laugh. "What about you?"

Suzaku grinned as he wiped some dirt off his face with his sleeve.

"Only threatening thing out there was General Yuu," Suzaku replied. "He was yelling at me more than usual today."

"That's a good thing," Allen explained as his eyes trailed to ahead, and his hues softened with fondness. "It means that he still cares. When someone stops trying to correct you, it means that they've given up on you. That's when you should be worried."

"You're such a fucking girl," a sharp voice snapped before Allen was hit in the back of the head with Mugen's hilt. "Spitting out nothing, but cliche words. Che."

"I love you, too," Allen replied rolling his eyes, and rubbing the back of his head. Muttering something incoherently about hitting Kanda back later, Allen diverted his attention to Suzaku. "Hey, Suzaku-..."

Allen's voice trailed off when he saw that Suzaku had come to an abrupt halt in step, and change in deamanor. The young man held no expression at all. His face was blank, his emerald hues were wide, and his lips were parted as if his brain suddenly shut down, and all functioning ceased. Suzaku seemed to have stopped breathing, and yet unconsciously, he was clenching his fists so tightly that they trembled slightly.

And then, Allen saw it: that flicker of fear in his eyes, and suddenly, Suzaku looked more like a child than ever.

With growing concern and alarm, Allen followed Suzaku's line of gaze where it ended at a dark-haired young man up ahead in the near distance. The face was new, so Allen assumed that he must have been a new soldier, but obviously, he was already on everyone's good terms. A few soldiers were crowded around him, and the new soldier was already charming everyone with his wit and good-natured personality.

Allen suddenly felt a sense of deja vu. Where Suzaku stood, Allen stood. Where that dark-haired soldier stood...Lavi stood.

It was a reunion of a broken boy and a tormenting ghost. A reconciliation of a grieving man and a skeleton that escaped from the closet.

"Who's that?" Allen asked Kanda cautiously.

"New soldier," Kanda answered with a shrug. "Actually, he's to be in my unit. Lelou...Le-something. Some fancy English name," Kanda explained as he sheathed Mugen. "Oh, and Kururugi, he'll be sharing your flat."

It was only Allen that saw Suzaku flinch from the corner of his eye. The soldier appeared to be losing the color from his face with each passing second.

The new soldier's violet hues sparked with recognition when he looked towards Allen's and Suzaku's direction. A broad smile touched his lips as the soldier approached Suzaku, and laughed in disbelief.

"Suzaku!" the new soldier exclaimed, a lively light dancing in his eyes. "Dear friend, I can't believe that it's you! It's so good to see you again. I missed you, you know."

Suzaku blinked as if his mind had difficulty processing the young man's words, and sheer incredulity was stricken across his face. Suzaku's body was incredibly tense, and he almost made the move to step back, so he could run away, but Suzaku stood his ground not, because he had courage, but because he was petrified.

Then...Suzaku smiled.

"I missed you too, old friend," Suzaku replied as his smile grew warmer. Then, he turned to Allen and Kanda. "Allen, and General Yuu, this is a good friend of mine, Lelouch Lamperouge. He'll be a promising soldier."

Kanda looked Lelouch up and down then gave his usual "Che" with a tone of approval. Just as when Kanda was about to speak, Allen grabbed Suzaku by the arm abruptly, and began pulling him away as Allen said they needed to be excused.

"Wait, Suzaku!" Lelouch began to say as he stepped forward, but froze when Allen turned his head sharply to give the younger soldier a piercing glare with murderous intent clearly portrayed in the hardened blue hues.

"_Don't_," Allen warned in a growl through gritted teeth, then turned to continue dragging Suzaku away.

Before anyone could protest, Allen already had Suzaku in another corridor. Allen would have expected Suzaku to complain or oppose, but he remained silent with a dead look on his face, and the skin around his eyes tints with faint scarlet; he was near tears.

_'You are a naive fool.'_

Allen clenched his free hand tightly until the nails dug through the fibers of his gloves. This was like watching history repeat itself all over again.

Allen didn't stop until they reached the end of a corridor that was usually secluded, because not many wandered in this wing unless they were searching the archives. Allen made Suzaku sit down on the window sill-bench, then took his seat besides him. Suzaku refused to meet Allen's eyes, and Allen clearly knew why; Suzaku was ashamed, and so unstable to the point where he was on the brink of self-destruction.

"You were smiling," Allen began to say quietly, "but your eyes weren't smiling. I know a fake smile when I see one."

Suzaku attempted to give a mirthless chuckle, and now the bitterness was finally seeping through.

"How did you know?"

"It was like looking at a mirror," Allen answered as he placed his hand over Suzaku's. "Suzaku, I'm not just your comrade. I'm also your friend."

"No..." Suzaku murmured as he shook his head, and closed his eyes tightly as pain contorted his face.

The raw emotions were beginning to surface. The boy's facade was beginning to crumble, and his mask was being reduced to thin tissue paper...thin paper Lelouch tore to shreds with just one damned smile.

"Allen, you're like my brother..." Suzaku confessed in a barely audible voice that trembled, "and that's why I don't want you to see how pathetic, and weak...a-an insignificant..." his voice was beginning to break, and so was his composure, "and worthless, and used I am...because...you'll be so disappointed..."

Suzaku's voice was cut off by a strangled noise from the back of a throat before a heart wrenching sob escaped his lips. As Suzaku's frame began to tremble with stifled convulsing sobs, he brought his free hand up to his face, and pressed the back of his hand against his lips as he turned his head away from Allen. Allen could see how hard Suzaku was trying not to cry as old wounds were beginning to tear open. Allen reached out and pulled Suzaku closer to him, and the boy broke like glass in Allen's touch. Allen marveled with sorrow at how strong Suzaku and optimistic he made himself out to be, but was so fragile and delicate underneath.

Allen glanced at the window, and caught his own reflection. His eyebrows raised for a second when he realized that he and Suzaku were the same: liars at best, weak people at worst.

Minutes past as Allen allowed Suzaku to weep in his arms. The boy needed to cry everything out, and if he had poison inside of him like Allen, then he needed to release that as well, or dear God, Suzaku was going to lose himself, and never find himself again. A sudden terrifying though crossed Allen's mind in a spur of a rather frightening moment. Was Suzaku possibly enduring something as self-afflicting as Allen?

Allen swallowed hard as dread filled his insides, and formed into a dead weight. A weight he knew that was going to fall on his feet, and it was the dreading anticipation that made Allen feel awful as he reached over to Suzaku's sleeve. The young man was too preoccupied with weeping to notice Allen push the sleeve up-...

There was nothing, but the usual bandages Suzaku bound around both of his arms. Never once had Allen or anyone else seen Suzaku without the bandages. Everyone assumed that Suzaku had a nasty scar, a defect of somesort like Allen's, or got wounded on a general basis. No one honestly paid attention, no one ever questioned, no one...cared.

Allen gingerly lifted on strip of the bandage up to expose the skin underneath.

Oh, how Allen wished he was wrong when he saw that bright red scream marring Suzaku's flesh.

Suzaku wore these bandages for..._years._ So, did that mean that he was mutilating himself for so long?

No, he was waiting. Waiting until someone would notice. Until someone would tell him to stop. Until someone would save him.

_'When someone stops trying to correct you, it means that they've given up on you. That's when you should be worried.'_

Allen's face contorted at the echo of his own words. How could he have been so blind? How could he have let someone so close suffer on their own in such despair?

Each sob was pulling at Allen's heartstrings, and soon, he wanted to cry, but he couldn't. Right now, he had to be strong for his friend. Allen swallowed hard as he pulled Suzaku's sleeve back down, and pulled the younger man closer into his arms. For a fleeting moment, Allen was afraid that Suzaku would vanish into thin air any second.

"I..." Suzaku cried out in a cracking voice. "I...I can't tell you...yet. He...took my voice. My...everything. He took everything, and left me nothing to build back with..."

"Who, Suzaku?" Allen asked gently.

Suzaku's body tensed as his breathing became erratic. Allen held the boy tighter; he could feel Suzaku losing himself, and was struggling to win against his demon.

"Like a ghost...he came back," Suzaku answered in a distorted growl, though his words were almost incoherent because of the uncontrollable sobs. "_Why couldn't he just leave me alone?!_ Why does he have to walk back into my life? What gives him the right to try to ruin my life again? I hate him, Allen! I hate him so much, I wish he would drop dead! _I wish he was never born!_"

Suzaku let out an anguished cry of devastation before breaking down into hysterical sobs once more. He clung onto Allen's shirt. No longer able to take it, Allen closed his eyes tightly, and let the tears leak in scalding streaks.

To see someone so close to you break down like this was heartbreaking. But to know that the person kept it a secret for so long was even worse, but Allen understood. If Allen ever tried to tell someone about Lavi, it would have been impossible, because his throat literally choked, and his voice wouldn't project, but more importantly, it was like asking Allen to relive memories he wished he could forget, and pull apart stitches that never stayed intact.

"But..." Suzaku wept pitifully, "I...I still care about him, and I hate myself even more, because I want him to suffer at the same time. I'm such a terrible person, Allen. So terrible..."

Allen shook his head as he stroked Suzaku's head, and could not believe how selfless Suzaku was.

"No, Suzaku," Allen murmured in grief, a grief that allowed him to understand how Mana and Cross felt years ago when Allen wept in despair for the frustration of being an abandoned son, for the loss of Mana, and every time a fragment of childhood innocence broke away.

So, Allen spoke the same words they did to him.

"You are only a child."

-x-

Tears brimmed Lelouch Lamperouge's eyes as he listened to his old friend, his other half, his past lover break down into pieces of glass that Lelouch was only bound to grind into dust from here on out. Lelouch was hidden in the shadows, his presence entirely unknown, but when Suzaku spoke about wishing Lelouch to drop dead, Lelouch smiled bitterly in rue.

Lelouch died the day he sold Suzaku.

Perhaps Lelouch died earlier; the day Lelouch gave his soul away to the Devil.

But knowing that Allen Walker was the one comforting Suzaku, the one that Suzaku trusted enough to cry in front, the one Suzaku confessed to, a scalding flame of anger and hatred sparked within Lelouch, thus fueling his knavish intentions even more. Fierce eyes flickered open, and as Lelouch wiped his damp cheeks, the left violet hues darkened into a shade of crimson.

_'I will oblierate you, Allen Walker.'_

--

_(Edit: due to a request, someone wanted me to state the fiction new characters are from._

_Edward and Alphonse Elric are from Fullmetal Alchemist.  
Lelouch Lamperouge and Suzaku Kururugi are from Code Geass)_

**Blinded Ryter:** First off, I wanted to say thank-you to all of my readers, reviewers, adders, favorites, and so on! You guys honestly make my day better, and I am so glad to hear that you are enjoying this story. I am truly sorry for the slow updates, but I am trying to put my heart into my story; that's why I never write during writer's block, because then it will be forced, and not good enough for my readers.

Secondly, characters from different animes and fiction will begin to enter the scene. Ages and background stories will be altered to adapt with Le Concerto Finale.

And as for Suzaku being a self-mutilator...I will begin to write companion stories for Le Concerto Finale, and one of them is Suzaku/Lelouch starting from their past to present day/end of Le Concerto Finale. Please don't misunderstand as Suzaku being "emo", because I strongly dislike portraying self-mutilator's in such a way, and there's hundreds of reason why people afflict harm upon themselves, and one of them is having no reason at all. You can go read Bright Red Scream for support on that, and I'm a self-mutilator myself, so I wouldn't write about mutilation without putting honesty into it.

Feedback is lovely, kiddos! Hope you enjoyed this one (:


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